The music is Blues, reminding her where she is lost.

She comes to the room, sits on a blue stool next to a so-called bar and gazes with blue eyes at the blue Hawaiian cocktail. The room is lit by blue lamps. She curses: damn it, even the walls are blue.

A ROOM FOR A DECENT BURIAL OF MEMORIES BY MARTIN FOROZ 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 80