Grandma bottles rainbows and sells them to hipsters.
Each one comes with a little note saying where it was found, like ‘over a Kilkenny field during a brief April shower’.
In reality she’s got a farm in a Peckham garden shed. A hose, a dozen prisms and a crate full of empty Coke bottles, the old glass kind.
Sometimes, I wonder if her customers know. If the lie is just part of the package. All ironic, because what isn’t?
Grandma thinks I’m too cynical. “Everyone says don’t chase rainbows,” she says. “I just show that sometimes, the buggers get caught.”
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