The Tagger 1/3

The Tagger 1/3

By Ginger Mayerson

The thump on the sidewalk outside his studio sounded larger than a cat jumping or a rat falling out of a tree. There were, in fact, no trees outside Paul’s studio. There was, however, a billboard, which was a magnet for taggers. Another case for it being a human thump were the police sirens and the running feet. Against his better judgment, he looked outside.

“Not you again,” he said to the kid, who was struggling to stand. Well, at this distance, Paul realized he was more of a late teenager or in his early twenties than a kid.

“Who me?” he said, wincing in pain and favoring his left leg.

“Yes, you. You who fell off this same billboard last weekend, you.”

The sirens were getting closer. The kid limped behind Paul’s van parked next to the studio. There was a plea for help in his eyes as he melted into the shadows.

A patrol car slowed to a halt in front of Paul. The cop stuck his head out and asked if he’d seen anyone tagging the billboard. Paul said he hadn’t seen anyone on the billboard, which was true. This satisfied the cop and, after wishing Paul a pleasant evening, he drove off.

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