He had to finish his masterpiece. A messy black mark across pure white cement, with the porous grains of rock breathing in the goo, sucking it up. Right then large fingers encircled his arms, and he was caught. 2 officers with blue caps dragging his torso back from the wall, back from the sidewalk, back to the police van, away from his half finished work, scrawled awkwardly, as if it knew it went unfinished. As if it knew what came next.

Noooo!!! he yelled to no one, outstretched arms dropping the spray can which clunked on the street and skittered across the asphalt, falling off into the infinity of a nearby gutter. the business owner grunted in amusement  Then he grinned.  He grinned proudly and broadly. And with a worn paintbrush and a half empty bucket of paint, he began painting over the black blemish on his wall, covering it with an equally out of place blemish of fresh paint. This was the victory he had been looking forward to for months. He closed his eyes and breathed in the paint smell, tuned the brush handle over in his fingers.  The vandal had been enemies, each day painting over each others work. But now the battle was over. His grin grew wider as he lathered the paint over every black brush stroke, every curve of each letter.

Nevermind that weeks from this moment he would find himself in a dark room, unable to sleep, depressed and suicidal, clinging on the last thread of a life void of all meaning. Right now all he felt was the tingling of victory He just wanted to hang on to it.

Just a little bit longer…

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