Time changed by slowing down noticeably, at the same rate the car sped up, until the driver saw the fascination in my face. Between the drumming, the engine stipple-staccato, the driver’s attention to my curiosity and the
Skate Hog
Street art is proof that some voices will not be ignored. They will sing anywhere and at any time, like tree roots forcing their way through the joints of an underground pipe in search of water.