Norman hadn't noticed the sign at first. Not until the other man pointed it out. And if there was any sarcasm or irritation in the man's voice, Norman didn't notice that either. Mother might have, but she was being very quiet right now. During his walk, that is. Mother didn't like The City. She has something of a personal vendetta against it. Why? Hard to say. But she didn't like the idea of something more evil than herself.
"I see," Norman said, giving a sort of far-away look as he peeked in through the window. "I'm looking for a yellow. To paint my motel."
As if on cue, he turned to look back in the direction from whence he came. He couldn't see the motel anymore, because it was lower upon the hill, but he could still make out his house hovering somewhat menacingly above The City. Of course, it didn't look evil to Norman. It just looked like home. The place where he lived and made sandwiches and did his taxidermy and took care of his Mother.
"I hope yellow is a good color... Do you think it's a good color?"