“Guess it’s time for me to pack up and go again,” Alan said as he picked up his canvas bag. He stuffed his box of nanoparticle chalks inside.
“Why?” The woman said. “Where can I find paint like this? I paint…” She cut herself off and tried not to smile.
He pointed to her paper cup. “Is that empty?”
“Yes.”
“Pop the lid off. Here.” He picked up his canvas bag and pulled out a black, slender, rectangular remote control that was the size of pack of chewing gum. “I have to go. Just press the red button on the front.” He handed her the remote control and at the same time the officer put a hand on his gun.
The woman fumbled with the remote but gave him a puzzled look. “What does it do?”
“Put your cup on the ground and press the button.” Alan’s heart rate accelerated as his breathing intensified. A ringing in his ears started but would not stop. His leg muscles tightened up as he readied himself to run. He closed up his umbrella and dropped it into his bag.
“Sir, are you the one that drew the graffiti on the sidewalk?” The officer said as he stood within grabbing distance of Alan’s arm. The officer had a good fifty pounds on Alan. He was a bald man with an ashen-gray handlebar mustache. His shoes were black, shiny, and without a spot. Freshly polished this morning, no doubt.
“It’s not graffiti…” Alan said. He let his voice fade out. These arguments were really getting tiring, he thought. “Are you going haul me off again?”
“The owner of this property states that you’re disrupting the peace. You know drawings like these in public are not allowed unless you receive prior approval. Do you have a permit?”
“Dave, we go through this all the time. I’m not getting a permit.” Alan clutched his canvas bag tighter.
“Then you know the drill. Drop the bag and turn around.”
Alan glared over at the owner of the hotel. The hotel owner returned a mischievous grin.
“I’ll clean this up officer,” the woman said. She popped the top off her cup and set the cup on the ground next to the drawing.
Dave stared at the drawing a moment but quickly shook off the distraction and put the handcuffs on Alan’s wrists. “Ma’am, I need you to back up.” He motioned toward the drawing. “What is that anyway?”
“It’s programmable paint,” Alan said. After a deep breath he dropped the canvas bag.
Dave ratcheted the handcuffs tighter around Alan’s wrists and shoved Alan toward the police cruiser. Every few seconds Alan turned back to stare at the woman in black with the cup. When Dave reached the cruiser, he pushed Alan up against the side of the vehicle near the rear tire on the passenger side. Dave opened the door, dragged Alan by the handcuffs, and shoved him inside.
Dave returned to the drawing and confiscated the rain-drenched canvas bag. He plumbed the depths of the bag and then stuffed it inside a clear plastic bag. He threw the bag into the trunk of the cruiser and climbed into the driver’s seat.
The woman pressed the button on the remote control and waited. She glanced back at Alan with mournful eyes.
Raindrops built creeks with crooked tracks on the cruiser’s rear window and through it all Alan gave her a heartfelt smile. Within minutes, another bystander pitched his coffee over the sidewalk railing and knelt down next to the woman. He, too, set his cup onto the ground and waited.
As the cruiser pulled away, Alan watched another couple approach the drawing with plastic cups in hand. The pigment in the painting flowed backward along the sidewalk and up the sides of their collective cups.
“What is this, the fourth time you’ve been taken in this year?” Dave said in between chatter on his police radio. “When will you ever learn?”
Alan’s wristwatch alarm went off but he could not reach it because of the handcuffs. It chirped for ten seconds before going silent. “Did that one in seventeen minutes twenty-seven seconds. A new record. Next time I’ll aim for fifteen.”
“If it was me, I’d make you scrub that graffiti off with a toothbrush. Don’t you know that someone has to come out and hose that down? Don’t you care who pays for that?”
Alan turned to watch the puddles passing by. Soon the rain ceased and the boy with the black-and-crimson rollerblades skated down his front steps and back toward the pier. In his hand was a paper cup.
About the Author
Michael Galloway is an outdoors enthusiast whose interests include camping, fishing, hiking, writing, and technology. He has a degree in Journalism, and has been writing software in one language or another for over twenty years. He currently lives in Minnesota with his wife.
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Also by Michael Galloway
An Echo Through the Trees
Theft at the Speed of Light
Horizons
Gathering the Wind
Corridors
Fractal Standard Time
Ionotatron
Chronopticus Rising
The Chronopticus Chronicles Series
Race the Sky
The Hammer of Amalynth
Windows Out Page 14
