"I'm not really sure you can get away with doing that." Quibbled Paul over the thunderous drone of early morning traffic.
"Get away with what?" Retorted Tom. "I'm engaged in a public service, anybody can see that."
As Paul had little to counter this argument with, he remained silent as Tom continued to spray paint the word "BALLS" across the newly painted white walls of the Cambridge Police Station.
Sunlight began to pierce through the rain-broken cloud cover that had been blanketing the majority of Cambridge that morning. As light gamboled playfully of the wet cars and pavements of Cambridgeshire's Constabulary car park, the strong smell of damp flora mingled with the ever-present exhaust fumes of main road transit to create a quintessentially English backdrop for the two 'graffiti artists'.
"Is it morning already?" Enquired Tom.
"It's been morning for hours mate."
"I'd better get a move on then."
"So you don't get caught? Mate you're definitely getting caught, you're practically in a Police Station, there's fucking loads of cameras."
"Say what?"
"Cameras, fuck-loads, Police Station."
"Ah." Tom sipped from a rain dappled can of Carlesberg Export and studiously eyed the four foot high, orange "BALLS" in front of him, nodding approvingly.
"I literally have no idea why I'm still here." Lamented Paul to the inquisitively poised CCTV camera pointed directly at them both, about ten metres away.
"This is a thing of beauty." Tom proudly continued, his slight frame swaying in the wind as he swigged again from his beer can.
"It's balls."
"It's art! Creative expression and I'll defend to the death my right to do it."
"You've written 'BALLS' in massive orange letters on the side of a Police Station."
"Don't stifle me Paul."
"You're definitely getting arrested."
"That's only probably going to happen. I had my hood up the entire time."
The hood of Tom's black Parker jacket had indeed been up for a large portion of the time he'd spent painting, however Tom had pulled it back a few minutes earlier to study his work and had since been brazenly standing, hood-free in the middle of the now well-lit car park.
"I've got paint on my Arsenal shirt." Declared Paul to no one in particular.
"It was for a good cause."
"It wasn't a great cause."
"The fact that it was for a cause at all is enough mate. 'Cesc would be proud of you."
"Why am I here?" Paul moaned rhetorically.
"Because you're a dreamer Paul, a stalwart prevaricator of justice and social liberty, you're part of hope's militia, staring undaunted into the heart of everything that's wrong and saying proudly; 'we deserve more'. Now sign my 'BALLS'."
"Get away with what?" Retorted Tom. "I'm engaged in a public service, anybody can see that."
As Paul had little to counter this argument with, he remained silent as Tom continued to spray paint the word "BALLS" across the newly painted white walls of the Cambridge Police Station.
Sunlight began to pierce through the rain-broken cloud cover that had been blanketing the majority of Cambridge that morning. As light gamboled playfully of the wet cars and pavements of Cambridgeshire's Constabulary car park, the strong smell of damp flora mingled with the ever-present exhaust fumes of main road transit to create a quintessentially English backdrop for the two 'graffiti artists'.
"Is it morning already?" Enquired Tom.
"It's been morning for hours mate."
"I'd better get a move on then."
"So you don't get caught? Mate you're definitely getting caught, you're practically in a Police Station, there's fucking loads of cameras."
"Say what?"
"Cameras, fuck-loads, Police Station."
"Ah." Tom sipped from a rain dappled can of Carlesberg Export and studiously eyed the four foot high, orange "BALLS" in front of him, nodding approvingly.
"I literally have no idea why I'm still here." Lamented Paul to the inquisitively poised CCTV camera pointed directly at them both, about ten metres away.
"This is a thing of beauty." Tom proudly continued, his slight frame swaying in the wind as he swigged again from his beer can.
"It's balls."
"It's art! Creative expression and I'll defend to the death my right to do it."
"You've written 'BALLS' in massive orange letters on the side of a Police Station."
"Don't stifle me Paul."
"You're definitely getting arrested."
"That's only probably going to happen. I had my hood up the entire time."
The hood of Tom's black Parker jacket had indeed been up for a large portion of the time he'd spent painting, however Tom had pulled it back a few minutes earlier to study his work and had since been brazenly standing, hood-free in the middle of the now well-lit car park.
"I've got paint on my Arsenal shirt." Declared Paul to no one in particular.
"It was for a good cause."
"It wasn't a great cause."
"The fact that it was for a cause at all is enough mate. 'Cesc would be proud of you."
"Why am I here?" Paul moaned rhetorically.
"Because you're a dreamer Paul, a stalwart prevaricator of justice and social liberty, you're part of hope's militia, staring undaunted into the heart of everything that's wrong and saying proudly; 'we deserve more'. Now sign my 'BALLS'."
Loved it, very funny and well written!
ReplyDeleteNicely done my pet.
ReplyDelete