Paloma was a street painter. At the end of a narrow alley there was a blank gray wall, and one morning she painted a door on it. It was green, with a round brass handle that shone in the sun and a letter slot. Children on their way to school knocked on it and waited, pretending that it would open.
Three weeks later Mr. Duarte, a city councillor of fifty-five, signed an order. On Monday the wall would be painted gray again, because a door that does not open is "a lie on a wall".
But on Saturday morning Paloma found notes pushed into the painted slot. "Good morning, door." A boy's drawing of a cat. Someone had fixed a real red mailbox under the painted slot, and by Sunday night it held forty letters with wishes, thank-yous and drawings, all addressed "To the Green Door".
On Monday Mr. Duarte came to watch the painters work. Out of curiosity he opened the mailbox, and among the letters he found one addressed to himself, written in crayon: "Dear Mr. Duarte, please don't close the door. Sami, age seven." He read it twice, then told the painters to go home. Paloma put a real doormat in front of the door.
The next morning there was one more letter in the box. It was from the councillor: "Dear door, I am sorry I almost closed you."
