9/5/14
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She followed the road that ran under the bridge.
The graffiti still smelled fresh, even though she'd seen this particular artwork several walks in a row. Presumably empty spray paint cans had been tossed in what looked like an overturned box spring with springs removed.
She kept walking. Maybe next month they'll paint the concrete wall on the other side of the road. That paint is peeling in the sun.
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There's a bunch of places here where they have painted villages, where artists come and do whatever they feel like doing in empty spaces on buildings, boundaries, stairs, and whatever else. We went to one today, and all the paint was dirty and faded, and this made me think of it.
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