him, this was a canvas. He flashed his head to the left, and then the right. He slid his fingers down and gripped the can he had been carrying. He brought it up as a smile crept onto his face, and shook the bottle. Once again he flashed his head back and forth, and then pushed down on the top nozzle of the bottle, releasing the paint onto the blank wall. The hissing was a symphony to his ears as he swept it in a long arc, creating a red stripe on the wall. His hands were trembling; it had been so long since he had created graffiti. His other hand reached down, grabbing another bottle, he shook it up as well and began streaking it across thewall. He breathed in the fumes; it carried him away into a land of tranquility. Streaking back and forth with his two cans, he kept on making the streaks larger and larger. However, he had the forgotten the number one rule of creating graffiti. Don’t. Get. Caught. A flash of grey rocketed at his skull with perfect accuracy. The man felt the grey enter his head as he fell down on the ground. His breathing was heavy, his eyes flitting back and forth. How did he get caught? It didn’t matter, because he had. That was it. He could feel the grey pained move down his body, finally reaching his heart. The pained infected his heart, setting up a work station. It then pumped more of the dark