I wonder if you were watching when the kid who painted this wall set up drop cloths and ladders and cans of paint and white washed it, cleaning the dull, lifeless, brain-dead black spray paint that was there before. I wonder if you were watching the next day when he came back and drew the shapes with markers which he then slowly and carefully painted around with yellow; watched him as he went up the ladder, came down, moved it a foot and went back up again. I wonder if this made you so angry that you then snuck out that night and spray painted a letter across the entire wall about corporations and the man. Did you feel wise and all knowing after that? Did you feel like no one can pull the wool over your eyes? That you know what's going on? Did you think fuck the man for trying to make something beautiful in MY neighborhood?
I wonder if you then hid the next day to see what the kid's reaction would be. I wonder if you were watching when he took out the white paint again and covered over the angry black letters, a job that took most of the day, and then covered over that with the yellow again, adding little blue stripes and working until it was completely dark. Did this make you crazy? Did this make you so crazy that you slithered out again that night with your black spray paint and left your stain? Did you feel good then? Like you accomplished something?
When I noticed your nasty stench this morning, all I could think was you made me feel like you: angry, disgusted and hateful. I wanted to tell you that you suck, and shove you with a two-handed push. I wanted to take a can of black spray paint and spray a big X across your face. For a few minutes, I forgot what it was like to feel good or laugh with a friend or kiss someone. All I could think was WTF? But then I noticed the kid's letter to you.
And it made me remember that there are some other options.
I wonder how it made you feel.
Sincerely,
DL
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