City Streets |Ashton Irwin|

Chapter 1

•Taylor•

I can see the dust particles in the air as the sun filters through the thin curtains of my room. Silently, I open my closet door and take out my case of spray paints, trying to keep the metal from hitting against each other. Some of the almost empty ones are rattling, and I pray that they're not too loud.
My mother is asleep in her room across the hall, snores ringing out. My father is no doubt passed out in a bar somewhere, so as I quietly grab my keys off of my desk, I'm not too worried that I'll be caught.
Making my way slowly down the hall towards the door, I take a bottle of water off of the kitchen counter before turning the key in the lock and stepping outside.
I let out a breath as I hear the door click behind me, I'm safe for now. Grimacing at the state of the walls around me, I step into the rickety old elevator in our apartment building.
On the ride down I study my reflection in the cracked mirror that provides one wall. I look more or less presentable, but not great. My skinny jeans have rips in the knees, put there by me instead of a manufacturer. I'm wearing an old Green Day t-shirt and my long black hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun, dark circles under my eyes contrasting with my pale skin. I turn around before I can start listing flaws, and the elevator gives a little ping before sliding open it's doors with a creak.
The walls in the "lobby" are old, peeling drywall, and stained with who knows what. The floor is concrete and the sound of my beat up converse knock offs hitting the ground rings out. There's no one here yet, because its 7 am on a Saturday. Half the people in the building are stoners or alcoholics, so I didn't expect much. Most of them are out all night and sleep during the day, like my parents.
Disgusted by the thought, I step outside of the building quickly, taking in a deep breath of air that doesn't smell like beer. The air is already thick with honks and traffic,the city waking up.
I turn down the street, walking at a fast pace to get away as soon as possible. I hate that building more than I hate anywhere else.
I'm used to the location, but I still get nervous seeing all of the druggies on the sides of the street. I make my way closer to the inner part of the city, where there's more civilians on the street, but less muggers in alleys.
As soon as I'm a safe distance away, I open up my phone and struggle with the keyboard. I saved up for months to buy a crappy phone with prepaid plans, so this is what I get. Finally I manage to call my best friend, Sarah.
On the third ring she picks up, cheerful voice coming in through the phone.
"Hey! What's up?" She asks.
"I'm going to that new place I found, do you want to come?" I respond curtly, not in the mood for much talking.
"You know I don't like it when you do that," she says disapprovingly.
"Yeah, well. Are you coming or not?"
"I'll meet you there in 20 minutes," she says, before hanging up.
I'm not the easiest person to talk to, but Sarah is perpetually cheerful and I'm grateful to her for taking me in and treating me the way she does, even though I come from a bad family. Her parents are rich and disapprove of me. They think I'm a bad influence on Sarah, which is probably true, but whatever.
It's not that I'm rude or disrespectful, it's just that I don't have money and most people know what my parents are. It's not my fault and I hate it, but I can't stop people from thinking what they want.
My case of paints swings at my side, occasionally hitting my leg. It's the thing I value most, because my paintings are the only way I can get away from the massive mess that it my life. Some people would say its graffiti, and that I'm vandalizing, but I would consider myself an artist. I don't just paint my name on random walls. I paint murals of anything I can think of, in places where not many can see.
The new place I was talking about is an alleyway between two broken down, closed shops. I've been looking at it for a while, and once I decided it was safe, I started to paint, and it's coming along nicely.
The sun is shining brightly by the time I see Sarah, close to the alley. It's open on both sides, so I know the sun will provide good lighting for painting.
Sarah launches into some story that has us both laughing as we round the corner into the alleyway, and for the moment I'm happy, caught up in the moment.