Lively street argument over fresh paint in Bo-Kaap

A photorealistic candid street photograph shot from across the street in Bo-Kaap, Cape Town, from about seven meters back at chest height on a bright morning.
A painter stands two thirds of the way up an aluminium ladder against a house facade, roller extended on a pole, mid-stroke, having just laid a fresh band of hot pink over a duller faded pink beneath. The roller is still pressed to the wall and his arm is still raised, but his head has turned sharply toward the street, mouth open in a reply. Paint has run down the pole handle and dried on his knuckles in layers of three different colors from three different jobs. He wears splattered overalls with the top half tied at the waist, a t-shirt, and a cap turned backwards.
Below him a minibus taxi has stopped in the middle of the road, sliding door half open, engine still running. A passenger is hanging out of the window from the chest up, one arm fully extended and pointing directly at the wet pink wall, face mid-shout, clearly delivering an opinion about the color choice. The driver is leaning forward across the wheel to see past him, grinning. Two other passengers inside are laughing. Nobody is getting out. The taxi will drive off in four seconds.
The painter is answering. Roller still up, other hand lifted in a half shrug, expression somewhere between defending himself and enjoying it.
The street behind them is the full Bo-Kaap run of flat-fronted Cape Dutch terraces in saturated color, turquoise next to lime green next to orange next to cobalt, each with white trim, a stoep, low steps and burglar bars. The colors are sun-worn rather than fresh, chalky at the edges, with older colors showing through at chips and corners. Cobbled street below, a dustbin, a cat on a wall, washing on a line in a side gap.
Beyond the roofline, Table Mountain rises in the distance, clearly recognizable in its flat profile but soft with morning haze and distance, a thin layer of cloud starting to spill over the top edge.
The light is high bright Cape morning sun from the side, hard and clean, throwing a sharp-edged ladder shadow diagonally across the pink wall and a short dark shadow of the taxi onto the cobbles. The wet paint catches the sun in a glossy sheen along the fresh band, noticeably brighter and darker than the dry paint above it.
Shot at 35mm f/5.6, ISO 200, 1/500s on a mirrorless camera. The painter, the ladder, the taxi and the shouting passenger are all sharp, the row of colored houses stays readable, Table Mountain softens with haze. The fast shutter freezes the passenger's pointing arm and a single drip falling from the roller.
The palette is the loudest in the world and entirely real: hot pink, turquoise, lime, orange, cobalt, all slightly chalked by sun, against the white trim and the grey cobbles and the blue-grey mountain behind. No legible text anywhere, no taxi signage, no shop names, no route boards readable.
The composition places the painter and his raised roller at the upper-left third, the pointing passenger at the lower-right third, and the diagonal of the ladder connecting them across the frame. The eye goes up the ladder, hits the wet pink, comes down the pointing arm, and lands on a man in a minibus telling a stranger he has picked the wrong color. The mood is warm and loud: two people conducting a fully public argument about paint that neither of them will remember by lunchtime.