Headlights raced past, and Cindi remained close as Angel sprayed colored cans onto the bare concrete of the underpass. Through the fumes and hissing traffic, a black, haunting gravity suddenly whispered from the nearby shadows. How deep would this p...
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One night me and Angel were playing video games and got halfway into a bottle of Rocketbird at his place in Walnut Park. We were all giggly and buzzed, and suddenly he wanted to take me spraypainting with him.
"Why would I want to go tagging with you again?" I slapped his shoulder and laughed.
"Man, Cindi, stop fuckin' with me. My shit ain't tagging. It's graffiti art."
"Whatever, mister artist." It was late and I was yawning. "Why don't we just finish the bottle and watch TV instead? I been tagging with you lots of times. That shit's boring."
"No, see?" He showed me a ripped-out notebook paper with his design.
I shrugged and grinned at him. It was actually maybe his best one yet. "It looks okay, I guess."
"Shit, it's gonna be my best ever, girl. I want you to help me. Keep me company and shit. Come on."
He put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. He tried to put a kiss on my cheek but I giggled and squirmed away.
"I promise we'll finish the bottle when we get back," he said, and then he grabbed me back and whispered Rocketbird breath in my ear, "Then after we're fucked up on the fumes and the alcohol we can get buck nasty for awhile."
Like he was making a present to get me to go spraying in the dark with him. More like a present to himself, but the way he said it got my heart going a little. He made me put on my black jeans and black hoodie, and then my blacked-out high tops -- the ones he took and spraypainted black on the toes and soles. I was so mad at him for that, but then they were my tagging shoes ever since. It was like twenty minutes driving to the place he picked out.
He parked where one of the neighborhoods was right next to a couple of freeways, but I'm not telling which. He let me carry a couple of his cans to make me feel like I was helping -- whatever, he carried most of them, so that's okay. He found a hole in the fence and started stomping through the bushes up to the big interchange with all the bridges and ramps.
"Angel, you always walk too fast." I could barely talk I was breathing so hard. "My legs are shorter than yours. Fuckin' slow down."
He stopped and put a finger on his lips as he waited for me. "Cindi, girl, what'd I tell you? You can't be all yelling and shit when we're spraying."
"The cars are all noisy. No one can hear shit, Angel."
He took my hand and helped me up the hill. I admit we were both a little chubby and when we got under the bridge to the bare wall it was like a couple minutes before we could get enough air to talk.
The special spot he found was just far enough into the shadows that no one going by would see us unless they were looking for us. It was totally deserted, like nobody went there since it got built. In the swooshing lights he started spraying his little marks and checking his paper, getting the size right and everything. I handed him a couple of cans when he asked and he got all into it. I like the smell of his spraying, but after a while I got bored and found the only kinda clean spot close by to sit and put in my earbuds so I could look at my phone.
