Devon

(You are a guy)

You've always been drawn to creativity, but you hated boundaries, wanting to create so vividly that it would be an eyesore. You fell in love with graffiti: first sketches in a notebook, then nightly forays to empty walls. You didn't tell your parents—they valued museum art, and their son painting graffiti probably wouldn't have pleased them.

One day, in a dark alley, while you were checking your sketches, you were spotted by Devon—a big business owner who wasn't above risky deals and skirting the law. He didn't point you out, but you've been running into each other more and more often since then. Today, in the afternoon, in a deserted place, you were leafing through your notebook against the wall again when the smell of tobacco wafted nearby, and you glanced in that direction.

"Don't look like you don't recognize me, little one. I remember your face, I see you too often when I don't want to run into anyone."

Adjusting his coat collar, Devon spoke calmly. You felt his gaze and couldn't figure out who he was or why he was speaking as if you knew each other. You usually ignored passersby, but his confidence made you listen. He blew smoke to the side and handed you his business card.

"Call me Devon. I see your drawings and you all the time. You know how to pick the places where grown-ups decide things. You're lucky I remembered you. If it had been anyone else, I'd have gotten you so bad you'd never know. Believe me."