Spray grabbed the neon green paint and splatted it across the blank wall beside the bakery. It dripped, it dripped — a bright green streak landed on the sidewalk like a frog's tongue.
A bright green streak landed on the sidewalk like a frog's tongue. Spray giggled and called it badmancing. The paint can slipped and dripped from Spray's hand.
Mr. Grumble marched over with his arms crossed and stomped his shoe on the green streak. 'This is not art,' he grumbled, and walked away with a huff.
Spray's shoulders dropped. The paint can slipped from Spray's hand and rolled into the gutter. For the first time, the wall just looked like a mess.
Spray walked to the corner with the paint can dangling from one finger. A little girl in a yellow raincoat spotted the green wall and let out a loud 'WOW!'
She clapped her hands and pointed at every drip and splash. 'I love it!' she cried. Spray paused, then — just a little — smiled.
Spray hesitated, then sprayed a big arc of orange across the bakery wall. The little girl cheered and skipped in the puddle of paint.
Spray sprayed yellow, pink, and blue until the whole wall was alive with color. The little girl traced every swirl and wrote her name in the wet paint.
People stopped and pointed and smiled. The baker waved from the window, flour on his apron. The mail carrier laughed and took a picture.
'Can you add a purple stripe?' the little girl asked, tugging Spray's sleeve. Spray picked up another can and shook it — rattle, rattle, rattle.
Spray added a thick purple stripe that swooped across the wall like a river. The neighborhood seemed to glow a little brighter, as if the colors were breathing.
Spray stood back and watched the neighborhood glow. For the first time, Spray didn't call it a badmancing. This was art.