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Crushing redpencil
In the places that are hidden from plain view. Where trains tumble past, or just lay there, motionless. Layers of spraycan art vibrate. Letters scream off of walls, the aggresive colors of Krylon boldly defying the law makers. Faceless warriors whose names have become famous.

Entering the dark tunnel at two in the morning the sound of paint cans reverberates into the distance and is lost at the other end. A loose outline in a light color defines the area to be filled. The phantom is replaced by a fat cap. Where there was first a pencil thin line, a thick blast emerges.