It all started in New York City, south Bronx to be exact. I just got home and my mother was already yelling at me, I just ignored her and said “yeah,yeah I’ll do it later” as I walked straight to my room. I jumped quickly to my bed and I start to think of the art I made that night, all the art that was just made that night. I wake up two hours later for work, I moan with a growl when I sit up, dreading that I have to work so I can support my deadbeat mom. As I’m getting ready I put markers in my bag so I can tag on the way to work, my mother doesn't support my habit of “destroying property”, It’s the only way I can go out and express myself. As I open the front door to leave, my mother yells to me “take the trash out!” I sigh to myself and grab the trash. I open the front door again and I quickly heard three loud bangs, I just frown and continue on my way. I wave politely to the cop that sits in front of my apartment building; he doesn't seem to care about the gun shots that went off. The subway station isn't too far my house, that’s how I get my job in queens. i work as i sandwich maker in a rundown deli, I get underpaid most of the time and my boss treats me like a caged gorilla. As I’m getting on the subway I see that the sides were recently bombed, I couldn't read the tag names or else I would have missed the train. I start to look for a place to tag my name: somewhere that would catch the eye. Obviously I just write it on the seat I’m sitting on because I didn't want to be noticed.