Blank concrete canvasses beg for color. The Riverfront Trail wants for color in places. Juveniles and young adults, mostly male, heed the call. They come with their spray cans and markers and "crayon sticks." They mark the space, attempt to be immortal, to name their place and time, or, at the very least, claim their fifteen minutes of time. They paint and draw and dream of their names lit large. And, the city waits, bides its time, dreams of blocks of ochre and cream to cover and erase. The tide of youth washes up again and leaves behind a swash of life.
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