Every word has a story.
Every bottle has a different hand.
The color of the hand doesn’t matter.
The age of the hand doesn’t matter.
The country where the hand was conceived doesn’t matter.
Every single spray is precious
On every square inch of this simple concrete lies a statement
Each painted layer is so complex,
Words overtop words,
Proclamations of people dying to be heard
Anger, grief, jealousy, heartbreak, frustration
a burst of happiness.