The neighborhood hardware store on 4th Street smelled of fresh-cut pine lumber and motor oil.

I laid the yellow paint swatch from my Tucson wallet flat on the glass counter of the paint department.

“I need four cans of satin interior paint matched to this card,” I told the clerk behind the counter.

He picked up the yellow card and held it beneath his desk lamp.

“This paper’s got a 1984 date code on it,” he said.

“The color codes have been changed twice since then.”