Graffiti

Arson stepped back and grinned. He eyed his work with approval. His paint marking the brick wall, splashes of color calling out to the world that he was there, that he mattered. 

He shook his head, scolding himself mentally for getting distracted. He pulled the slip of paper he'd received only a day prior from the pocket of his hoodie. Some guy had given it to him at a bar, not that it mattered much. 

Arson, I've seen your work. I think it would be beneficial to the both of us...

It was quite fancy for a letter a street artist. Essentially, some rich person probably, wanted to talk to him about his art. Whether this was a cop who wanted him to stop, or a gang leader who wanted graffiti and couldn't do it themself, didn't really matter. Arson preferred being straightforward, he didn't deal with cryptic notes on pieces of scrap paper. 

Which was exactly why he would be ignoring the note. 

He'd keep it, for future reference, or just because he was a hoarder. It would find a spot on one of the dusty shelves in the house he technically half owned but never used. His friend lived there, but he never touched any of Arson's things, or even went into the attic that was Arson's room. 

Arson shoved the note back into his pocket, slung his backpack onto his shoulder, and left the street art. He stepped over the occasional soda can or plastic bag and made his way back to the more populated and clean streets of the city. He knew them well, having lived there nine years and walking them every day. 

He passed yesterday's bar, keeping his head down to avoid any possible confrontations. He only had to walk for an extra ten minutes before stepping into one of his more frequented bars, Nightcap Taproom, more commonly referred to as Nightcap. 

He took a seat and waved over the bartender.

"Just water today Kurt."

So it might have been a little rude and upfront, but it was nothing unusual. He came often and ordered something different every time, so he was used to this by now. 

Kurt was over in a moment, delivering the water in exchange for the demanded price. Arson downed it quickly, and set the glass down. He didn't come to get blackout drunk like some of the others, the drink was simply formality. 

He fished a 20 out of his bag and slid it over the counter. 

"I'm running out of red and black paint, and I might need a knife. Do you have anything?"

Kurt always had something, though usually it was a little off. If he asked for orange paint, he'd only get it half the time. It was better than walking into a paint shop upfront, since those were generally nosy and untrustworthy, but it wasn't the best by a long shot. Still, he trusted him, and that was most important. 

"You know I do, little fireman."

Kurt took the money and disappeared into a back room. A minute later, he was out with a sharp dagger and two cans of red spray paint. He set them on the counter for the street artist across him. 

"When will you get me the rest?"

Two cans and a knife was worth less than 20, and he'd asked for black paint too. He wouldn't be disappointed in the end, but he didn't feel like waiting a week without notice. He'd work out a deal and come back when his paint could be in his hands. 

That evening was uneventful. He'd painted a smiley face on a sidewalk under a bridge with his new paint and was satisfied with the quality. He'd also gotten to go food from a restaurant and eaten it on his way towards his house. 

The lights were off, his friend living there was out. Arson had keys, since it was technically his house, so he got in through the front door. It had been a while since he'd been there last, but not much had changed. Not an inch of graffiti, or any kind of real art. 

It didn't take him long to get to the attic and drop off the note. It ended up in a pile of other notes he'd ignored, all kept in the same drawer for organizational reasons. Looking around, he couldn't claim "organizational reasons" for the rest of the room, cluttered and filled with whatever he'd piled up over the years. It didn't matter though, since he never used the place anyways. 

He didn't bother staying longer, deciding to leave the way he came before the actual residence of the house came back. He had better places to stay, places like Kurt's bar or an actual friend's house. They were better places, they were places that cared, places where he mattered.