The Painted City
The welcome to the city sign was mostly obscured with vivid graffiti.
(1) killed the engine. “I think we found it.” She pushed open the door and hopped out of the battered truck. (2) jumped out of the passenger side and came around to stand beside her. (1) rummaged through the collection of buckets and spray cans of paint jumbled in the back.
“You sure about this?” (2) whispered. “Aren’t they suppose to be dangerous or something?”
“Ha, there you are!” She pulled out a child’s wagon from the mess and grinned at (2). “Calm down. It’s like they say, what’s life without some risk?”
“Who is this all knowing ‘they’ everyone always talks about? I’d like to punch them for coming up with that crap.”
(1) rolled her eyes. (3) was leaning out the back window watching. “(2), we are about to enter the very soul of art, the muse’s world itself. Isn’t that right (1)?”
She ignored him. “(2), I have wanted to see this place since I first heard of it. Their suppose to live off muse energy, they live for creativity. How can you expect me to pass up seeing that?”
It was (2)’s turn to roll his eyes. “We are about to go into a very vandalized, very abandon city, without anyone knowing where we are at.”
“Course no one know’s where we’re at. This place is like a grade one uber no no.”
(3) laughed, “That’s the point.”
