Monday, August 11, 2008

A Coat of White Primer

White primer etched itself upon the bare concrete wall. “You sure your mom doesn’t mind,” Joe asked as he reached for the can of red spray paint.

“Naw, she’s cool,” Chuck replied. She’d rather have me tagging down here then out on the streets. She said that she wouldn’t bail me out again anyway.”

“That sucks man. How did you get nabbed the last time?”

“I was down at the train yards. I’ve heard that they don’t car as long as you don’t cover any identifying marks on the rail cars. Well, the watchman must not have gotten that memo. He must have called the cops before chasing after me. Before I knew it I was down a dead-end ally with the cops plugging up the end.”

“That’s harsh dude.”

“Yeah, it was. I won’t make the mistake of getting caught again. Although, those couple of hours in the cooler got me to thinking. I actually sent in the application to art school. In a few years I’ll graduate with a graphic design degree.”

“Cool, way cool.”

The pair stood back and admired their handiwork. The basement wall never looked so good.

1 comment:

  1. Nice use of dialogue. I guess a little time in the can did him some good, and that is always nice when jail is rehabilitating vs. turning a potential prisoner harsher.