NOVEMBER 7: school
“Lemme school you on this,” Connor said in his lyrical accent, shaking the can of spray paint in his hand. He regarded the dusty brick wall in front of him with a slightly tilted his head. He took a step forward. “I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers.”
“Uh-huh,” Noel said but he watched Connor with veiled interest in his blue eyes. He sat on an old milk crate turned upside down, hands between his legs and gripping the crate. His black and grey striped tuque was pulled down low enough to cover his eyebrows, covering his piercing. He bit his lower lip and Connor could see him jiggling his right leg before his gaze darted around.
“Don’t worry, we won’t be caught,” he assured the kid before he stepped forward and began to spray out his initials. CDO. He smirked at its correlation with OCD. People thought that was what it was, the code that he sprayed. He heard some girls scoffing about it before and he almost laughed aloud right in their ears. He didn’t, of course. Graffiti artists were a notorious attention seeking lot but they wanted to remain anonymous at the same time. It was a weird kind of exhibition.
“You start with your signature?” Noel asked.
“Yep.” He didn’t bother explaining why.
When he finished his initials, he started in on his actual painting, which he had decided would be…
“Is that a shamrock?” Noel asked.
“Yep.” He smirked. “Irish, in case you didn’t notice.”