I was scheduled to meet a friend last week at the Lanza Metro. We hadn’t seen each other in months and were long overdue for a cappuccino. I was early. So I parked myself above the steps leading out of the metro station and awaited her arrival.

Spare time is the mother of invention. Waiting, I watched and surreptitiously snapped pictures of people walking up out of the underground with their backs to me. I imagined I’d see a wild variety of hairstyles, a blitz of color. Now that fall is upon us, there’s all the more reason to wrap brightly colored scarves around our necks. And yet…Person #1 and person #2 were clad mostly in black, the Grand Master of Urban Colors. And person #3 emerged in a demure, light khaki trench.

What followed was a slow-paced parade of somberness splashed with red, as if every single citizen had coordinated him or herself with the palette and austerity of the subway station itself. It seems restraint and sobriety with a single-colored accent were the themes of the day. I wondered why. And then I looked at myself: grey and black. Go figure.