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He waved a hand. “Come on. You think about it as we walk.”
He let me walk this time, which was good, and for once, he held back the length of his strides. I knew because he kept pace with me more often than not. I almost made a joke about him being an actual decent person for once, but he took us into another pipe. This one was bigger than the rest, and neither of us had to duck.
On the other side was a hill, scenic, which jarred me for a second. We’d been surrounded by concrete only a breath ago.
“Watch your step,” Ares called, ahead on the hill. “One false step, you’re rolling down this thing.”
Yeah, I got that.
But the view was definitely something.
The hills rolled ahead of us, a sea of green that led into the city. Smokestacks from local factories puffed into the setting sun, but there weren’t a ton, which made them less of an eyesore.
“You good?” Ares had turned back at this point, his hand on the hill. Even he needed it to keep from sliding.
I was good, so I followed, but his bag on my back wasn’t helping. Ares navigated the trek like Spider-Man. We were angled, but you wouldn’t have known it with the way he navigated the hill. His bag clearly wasn’t bothering him.
“It’s just up here,” he said, and when I saw it, well, I saw it. A fresh wall of concrete from the channel was on the other side.
And it was tagged.
Graffiti completely painted the wall, the colors rich and buttery. Ares stood beneath the wide work, and when I got to him, I did too.
It was all seriously sweet, some of it abstract and some of it not. There were portraits too, childlike faces. Someone had done a lot of work here. Well, some people. It seemed like a lot for just one person.
Taking off his bag, Ares revealed the contents. Aerosol cans lined the interior. He took one out and proceeded to head to the wall.
I cut in front of him. “What the fuck are you doing?” I knew he was a rich kid, but I refused to think he was this dense. “You can’t just fucking tag a wall.”
His brow hiked. “Uh, yeah. I can.”
“Nah.” He may be stupid, but I wasn’t going to let him get killed for his stupidity. “You can’t just tag walls.” I raised a hand. “Someone’s already been here.” And depending on who that was could get his ass shot. He didn’t grow up where I grew up. There were territories, gangs. “You could piss someone off.”
He chuckled. “Well, I don’t think my dad or me will mind.” He lowered his arm. “This is our wall. We did this.”
He stood back, letting me see.
“You did this?” I directed a finger. “You and your dad tagged a wall.”
Ares’s eyes lifted, and he proceeded to head to the wall again. He shook up his can, then blended into the art.
The transition was seamless.
He knew this wall obviously, and he was showing me.
“When Dad first took me here, I thought he’d lost his fucking mind.” He directed a look at me. “You saw that fucking trek.”
I did, huffing it the whole way.
I approached him, watching behind. I’d never seen him work right in front of me, and the kid was talented. Like epically. I was good, but he was great.
I really didn’t know how I felt about that. The competitor in me was annoyed, which was silly. I was sure he’d worked with the greats.
“I was in middle school then. Things were kind of rough.” He spoke casually while he sprayed, his back to me. “Dad took me out here to deal with my attitude.”
I recalled him saying his dad was a kind man. If he was, something told me his childhood couldn’t have been that bad. I supposed I didn’t know his mom, though. I mean if she was still around.
I propped hands on my hips. “You got issues with your mom or something.”
