No Red, Yellow, Green, or anything as interesting.
No picture, just letters.
“You just gonna sit there, or you gonna paint” Sarge yells toward me, not even bothering to lift his head from the scratch game he’s got going with some of the boys from the 509th.
What’s there to paint? It’s just lettering. Boring lettering.
Reaching into the front pocket of my overalls, I pull out a pencil as I approach the shiny unpainted metallic side of the B-29.
I lean in to block the sun from my work.
With deliberate slow strokes, my pencil traces the outline of precise letters on the side of the plane.