We have roads. Our roads need light when the sun sets . So we have lamposts. The salubrious air of Bombay corrodes said lamposts. Said lamposts need painting. Along comes a silver man. Silver from head to toe. Literally. Because shoes do not for a successful shimmy up a lampost make. His barefootedness exposes his silver toes. He has a once brown rope thrown in a coil over one shoulder. A bucket of paint hanging from the other. He,s up the lampost in less time than it takes for the dog at its base to state its territorial claim. He hauls his bucket up and loops the rope at the top. A dip of the brush' a dab of silver on the post and a few drops drawn by gravity to right below the brush begin giving his coat a new coat of silver. He works his way down , a stroke of paint at a time. All that stops him from being monochromatic are his eyes. He's run out of post. His feet are back on the ground .He coils his rope, picks up his bucket of paint and moves on to the next lamp post. A tin man with twinkling silver toes moving along his own yellow brick road .