Category Archive

When the wall’s blank, I’m just another subway rider; when it’s been graffitied, I’m a duty cop looking at evidence; when it’s a page of autobiography, it sees me like a mirror, like your cousin from the Bronx; but it ain’t art, and I’m no critic. The taggers call me Ugly Joe or Officer Ugly. They’re clever like that. Can’t even write their own names legible. When they’re bustin my chops, they use stencils and a picture they made from my department ID. It’s a favorite topic for your vandalwriters, my supposable sexual practices: Ugly Joe Blanks Blank sort of genius. But this guy. This guy tells a story I recognize from the neighborhood, one wall at a time, with page numbers. Except we don’t find them numerical over the years we’re chasing him. There are gaps. Now that we snagged a CCTV image—Vic Damone haircut, subway worker’s uniform—I see how he managed it, ladder and a bucket, maybe a clipboard, on what grounds was he reasonably suspicious, my sergeant would ask. Hours it must take. First the primer, gotta let it dry, then a wall of sentences, neat page number, signature you can read, no swear words, no threats. Hardly seems criminal. I’ve been to his schools, his church, his subway stop. He’s born at Montefiore, same as me, page 146. You think he’s an art school kid, but no—steelwork, dockwork, hump and grunt. Dad’s a cop, retired like mine. We know his height at age 15. We know his best girl’s complexion. There’s things we don’t know, like why not on paper, instead of places only I seem to find. Maybe Earsnot, Dybyk335, maybe they know. I’ll ask them, next time I detain them. If [stricken] ever is arrested, it’ll be some rookie doesn’t appreciate the significance.

Original Copyright © February 01, 2007
Revised Copyright © January 31, 2026