My friend lives near the border of two rival street gangs. Every few months or so the gangs will tag a garage across the street that straddles their territories. One gang will tag the garage to stake a claim to it and the other gang will come along and cross it out. It's a turf war, a battle for land they don't own.
Usually, one gang sprays the garage with black paint, and the other gang retaliates with red paint. And then somebody calls the city and the city paints the garage back to white.
I paid a visit to my friend the other day and I noticed that the garage had been tagged, but in this instance, one gang used yellow paint, and the other gang crossed it out in a baby blue color. Soft colors, I said to myself. Hardly menacing. How did that happen? I wondered if there was a conversation about the paint.
"Yellow? What happened to black?"
I created a picture in my mind of a gang banger pulling up to the garage and getting out of a car while his friend waited with the engine running. I pictured him crossing out the yellow tag with the baby blue paint, then getting back into the car to have his friend say, "What kind of paint is that? Where's the red?"
The city sent two young men and a truck full of paint to the scene. The men looked like they could have had possible past associations with the gang life. They were standing by the truck and it looked to me like they were scrutinizing the tag. I detected some disappointment on their faces. I watched them spray paint the garage back to white. I wouldn't be surprised if they called the taggers afterwards and said, "Hey homie, what's with the paint? Caught you slipping."
Usually, one gang sprays the garage with black paint, and the other gang retaliates with red paint. And then somebody calls the city and the city paints the garage back to white.
I paid a visit to my friend the other day and I noticed that the garage had been tagged, but in this instance, one gang used yellow paint, and the other gang crossed it out in a baby blue color. Soft colors, I said to myself. Hardly menacing. How did that happen? I wondered if there was a conversation about the paint.
"Yellow? What happened to black?"
I created a picture in my mind of a gang banger pulling up to the garage and getting out of a car while his friend waited with the engine running. I pictured him crossing out the yellow tag with the baby blue paint, then getting back into the car to have his friend say, "What kind of paint is that? Where's the red?"
The city sent two young men and a truck full of paint to the scene. The men looked like they could have had possible past associations with the gang life. They were standing by the truck and it looked to me like they were scrutinizing the tag. I detected some disappointment on their faces. I watched them spray paint the garage back to white. I wouldn't be surprised if they called the taggers afterwards and said, "Hey homie, what's with the paint? Caught you slipping."
