Sliding a can of spray paint out of his mischeif backpack
finger tips began to sense things without touching
they knew they were about to vandalize
and the thought of beautiful work to be created made the nerves fly into a frenzy.
Rattling of  bearing, combining of paint and propellant
pink sneezes out of the nozzle in a wonderful mist smelling of dizzying chemicals
he waves his arm in an arc,
an ark to save a generation from corporate *******,
to eliminate the fraud of the men in suits who shave daily and drink coffee
this kid
wanted to revolt, not knowing repurcussions
or fearing concussions
only the humiliation of being held by the book of laws and treaties,
treating each night of debauchery as a dawn of ingenuity and won victories,
perplexion of the too-calm anarchy of day-to-day America
why wasn't everyone outraged?
Why weren't they naked and screaming and looting?
His thoughts were misconstrued by **** residue
cheap alcohol poisoning
he may as well have huffed the paint
then the cops came
"It's in my rights, I want my rights! I need my rights to write!"
Delirious, disgruntled
he'll tweet about this later,
his first run-in with The Fuzz
while defacing a preschool.