Chalk on Wet Brick

The drizzle kept everything damp, but right under the iron tread of the stairs, the brick wall stayed completely dry. I paused, scouting the ledge, when my boot kicked something small and white—a stub of construction chalk tucked in a mortar gap. Perfect. I scooped it up, tested the chalky tip against my thumb, and started sketching sharp, angular arrows and lightning tags straight onto the weathered masonry. Every stroke scraped with a rough, satisfying rasp. The alley below had sirens and car tires hissing through puddles, but right here, I had my own fresh mural going up.