MISSPELED

Mx. Trouble In The Alley

"But there's nothing wrong with me" that's a good one, although, not true, kinda ironic, i think people will get it. A good one to go in this design. What, you thought that i was talking about ME? No... I'm talking about my art. This one that I'm finishing right now. I would've finished it way before if it was not the wind trying to blow my papers away. It's hard to do paste-ups in this part of the city, close to the canals, but it's the best place I found since I moved.
Funny story, this one, moving up here. A opportunity blowed up in my door after i got arrested (so I can say it blowed up in the bars on my cell) for doing what I'm doing right now. I know, I know, why? The reason I will give to the officer is that i have learning difficulties, wich is true.
Back to the story, of moving and all... I have a good insta page, and TikTok, where i post my art anonymously, but the anonymous part kinda got away when i was arrested during a live, my mugshot got viral after it and my art just caught the attention of some great high schools with really good art programs, so here i came just to go to study, but not here, here, like, the school is in the great part of the city, close to the rich boys households, in the corner of the bigotry alley. Good place, tho, but not for people like me. I like this one better, dark streets, some squicks from rats down the road, and the smell of my glue, this is a good place.
I ran my hand true the glue, to take out the waves in the paper, and stepped back to look at it.

I could be there, for more hours, jamming to the music that was escaping from the windows of the abandoned building close to me, but the song stopped, suddenly, and some screaming just escalate.
— WHAT Y'ALL FREAKS ARE DOING HERE?!
— Oh, poor fans of Bauhaus. I think it's time to go. — I muffled, trough my bandana, for the camera in my head, trying to pick up my things the faster i could.
— IM GONNA CALL THE FUCKING POLICE! — The huge amount of step noises, got closer, becoming worst then just annoying, with the muffled laughs, and little screams.
On the rush i dropped the bottle of glue, in my shoes, way closer to my bag with the other arts, and while trying to pick up my mess, they just passed, running, bumping me to the ground, over the mess, the bag, the arts, everything. — Hey! You right there!
— Shit! — I held the handle of my backpack, and jumped into my feet, my heart beating almost to explosion. When someone is yelling at you, you don't need to hear your name, or see them looking at you, you feel it. The goosebumps runned through my skin when i got in my bike, and just when i was sliding in the street that i gave myself permission to look back to the man that was still chasing that people. A bat, he was holding a freaking baseball bat. — Close, this one was really close. — In some point, i passed side by side with the punks, they were almost passing out running, exhausted. Clothes with band patches, weird pointed hair, and boots that had the size of my head. Normally I would be friends with them, always got along with alt kids but I was covered in glue, several arts destroyed in my backpack. I was in my freacking feral mode.
— ENJOYING THE RUNNING, RATS?!
— GO FUCK YOURSELF, DUDE!
— THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I WATCH A BUNCH OF PLAYBOYS DISGUISED AS ALTS RUNNING FOR THEIR LIFES! WHY DONT U GUYS CALL YOUR DADS? THE JUDGES? — One of them looked straight in my eyes, the one with the big spikey hair, even in the dark i could feel that stare. That's how you piss off an entire group of punks, call them playboys and hope to fucking survive.