art

New school, high school, starting at the bottom again. Talking to a kid I knew from the Street in the lobby before dismissal just getting the lay of the land.

Our guys didn’t enjoy walking back to the hood in their socks, and Gil and I lost our following as ringleaders. That day the ante was raised if I was ever going to take myself seriously in the Culture.

Times at home or school were merely those in-between moments interrupting graffiti missions. And how I’d wasted moments of my life practicing on paper or writing walls!

The scent of aerosol paint perfumed the thick air and one could hear rumblings of rowdy teenage activity. We were far from alone, but the place was crawling with hordes…

I was little, and my hand skills were slow to develop, so the title of “toy” still hung on me- appropriately. But I would strive carelessly for any progress within my feeble powers.