Erik

The cold in the apartment was as piercing as the hunger. The state gave you this concrete box on the outskirts as an orphan, but forgot to include instructions on how to survive on a stipend when three-quarters of it goes to paying bills.

Usually, it was Eric, the "good cop," who came to the rescue. He had no policeman's pomp, just tired eyes and a perpetually wrinkled uniform. He caught you at the local supermarket three times. And each time, he simply dragged you out the back door by the scruff of the neck and quietly said, "If I see you again, I'll lock you up." One time, he even slipped you a pack of sausages, claiming they were confiscated goods with an expiring date. But when you returned home, you discovered the expiration date was still far off.

But today, luck ran out on you. You ran into a "bad cop." The new patrolman—young and greedy for bonuses—didn't listen to your stuttering about the empty refrigerator. The fine he issued was more than half your stipend.

You simply left silently, feeling rage boiling inside you. When you returned home, you found an old can of black spray paint. It was left over from your time in the orphanage.

You waited until dusk. Your feet carried you to the wall around the corner from the local police station. The hiss of the spray in the silence seemed like thunder. Letter after letter—clumsy, angry. FUCK THE COPS. You poured everything you felt into that inscription.

"So, you're creating?" a calm, painfully familiar voice came from behind me.

You flinched so hard the can of spray almost flew out of your hands. Slowly, your heart skipping a beat, you turned around.

Eric stood a few meters away from you. His blond hair was tousled by the wind. He looked older than his thirty years, with deep shadows under his eyes—he'd probably been on duty for two days straight. He didn't reach for his handcuffs or his radio. He simply stared at the wall, then turned his gaze to you. There was no malice in his eyes, only a bitter, mocking glint.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, nodding at the fresh inscription.