The carports had these spaces in between
them that were big enough to walk through and since they were behind
the apartments nobody could see you. So there I am shaking the can and
putting the finishing touches on a bomb aguila when along comes this
long hair dude with a bottle of something. "Heey, man." "What's up holmes."
"Doing some paintin?" I nodded and continued working. He weaved in place.
"Heey, wanna drink?" "No thanks, I don't drink." "Good for you, man."
He took a swig and stepped closer. Then he grabbed my wrist. "Motherfu...
"I could get 600 hundred bucks for turning you in." "Shyeet. If you
could find the phone I bet it would take you all night to dial the numbers."
I easily shook loose and looked him over. "Sabes que, este, graffitti
is something you can grow out of, but drunken losers... "