I have a soft spot for graffiti artists. I realize I am one of maybe four people who still give a shit about the art form but I genuinely adore a few of them and take great pleasure in their stories and perusing through their piecebooks. And while I'm sure a couple of them really are vile fingerless glove wearing derelicts who are bloated with street cred while starving to death on building stoops, stinking of diseased pee and dithering about how real New York was SO REAL, others have gone on to becoming brilliant fine artists, making stupid amounts of money, owning property, and having lots to lose. And yet the tie that binds is that there will always be this COMPULSION to get up. Especially when out of town. Especially when out of continent, like if you were being flown out to melanoma land a.k.a. Prison Island a.k.a. Australia, where it feels like law doesn't exist since people are too squat in discipline to say "afternoon" instead saying webbed-toe shit like "arvo." I think it's sort of excusable to think their vandal squad maybe hadn't figured out how to follow you on Twitter. But man, I wish REVOK hadn't Tweeted his exact when and whereabouts. Especially about going to the airport right when he was going to the airport. He could be back in California stuffing his face full of Tim Tams. Stupid fingers.