The hiss of the can of paint is loud in my ears as I apply the pressure needed to the nozzle. My arm sweeps back and forth, and I can see the picture forming. It is beautiful, just as it would be in my mind, in my life. My focus remains unbroken, this will be my masterpiece. I hope it will not be destroyed this time. It is nearly finished. A few more sweeps and I step back, smiling at my work.

"Well Romano, do you like it?" I grin, I can't resist asking, even though I know what he'll say.

"Magnificent. As usual, you bastard." I toss the paint up in the air, letting it twirl before capturing it once more between my skilled fingers.

"You flatter me, fratello…" I grin. I throw the can into a box on the ground beside the brick wall, filled with similar aluminum spray paint cans. My eyes caress the art I have graced upon this humble building. It is of a deep blue sky, viewed as if you were looking up, up, up, the underbellies of pigeons having been delicately added on earlier with my paintbrush. A swell of pride bubbles up in my chest. It truly is my masterpiece. I stretch my arms above my head, my shoulders popping loudly.

"Should we go?" I chuckle at my brother's words.

"Well, there's nothing keeping us here any longer, is there?" I pick up my box of paints and begin walking. "We best leave before the police show up." And just like that, we're gone. I am the famous street artist known as Italia. No one sees me as I slink back off into the shadows of the city.

~TB~

"Feliciano, tables three and four are waiting on their drinks, will you take it to them?" I look up from the counter in our small kitchen here at the restaurant my brother, his boyfriend, and I run together.

"Sure thing, Antonio." I smile and give him a playful salute before filling the cups and setting them on a tray. I push open our kitchen door which leads into a small dining area. There are only five tables. They are all that's needed, and it's quite rare for them all to be full at once. I give the customers their drinks and another smile before taking their orders back in to Antonio. He's head chef here at Carriedo's Café, and Romano and I help out and wait tables.

"After these people leave, my shift is over." I say as I place the order cards on the counter beside him.

"Aw, don't leave me Feli. Who will I have to talk to?" Antonio's foolish grin stretched across his tanned face, curly brown hair framing his face and bright green eyes.

"You know perfectly well the answer to that question." I scoff. "Now get cooking, I'd like to leave." I sit down on a chair by a table we keep in here for when there are no customers to serve, which is far too often. We'll play games or talk, unless of course Romano and Antonio are in the same room, then I have to listen to them. Not fun, I can tell you that. I watch Antonio's movements as he fixes the meals, rhythmic and fast at the same time. He looks as if he's dancing. I've seen him dance only once, he was surprisingly good. With his personality, you'd expect him to be all awkward and out of place, but he danced like a pro. I can see why fratello likes him. Not that he'll admit it. I give a soft sigh and cross my ankles.

"Where do you think Romano is?" Antonio questions. I roll my eyes.

"Where he always is at this time of day, upstairs, sleeping." Antonio nods in acknowledgement and casts a glance at the rickety metal stairs in the corner. Upstairs, there are four very small rooms. There is a living area, able to hold an old couch, television, and small table, where we gather to watch the World Cup every four years. Besides that, there's a bathroom off to the side, and a hallway that leads to two doors. My room, and my brother's and Antonio's room. That's right, they sleep together. Typical couple behavior, I know, but some nights they like to get… intimate. Alright, most nights. And it's just really awkward for me with these paper thin walls of ours. Sure, I've brought girls home before, but never when they were around and I certainly don't let them stay overnight. Besides, I've never really had a 'girlfriend' before. Just a few one night stands and this girl I was into in high school, nothing more.

I take the food out to the people waiting, secretly willing them to eat as quick as possible. I'd like to be out of here before Romano wakes up and comes down for his shift. Where I'll go, I have no clue, but it's worth it to avoid the drama of that relationship.

I walk back into the kitchen, dropping the tray in a pile with nine others, just as Antonio is walking out the back with a pack of cigarettes.

"Smoke break, will you cover for me?" He asks. I nod. He has such a filthy habit, I don't see how Romano can stand it. I've been with a girl that smoked before, and she reeked. But I never kissed her. I never kiss anyone. I've never been sure why, kissing just seems….. gross.

I bring in the dirty dishes just as Antonio comes back in. We wash them together and when we are done, Romano staggers down the stairs. My brother and I are often mistaken for twins, when in truth, he is three years my elder. We both have brown hair in and eyes, although his is darker in hue then mine, and we both are the exact same height, though he is a tad bit heavier than I am.

"Hello, fratello." I greet him as I dry my hands. He gives a mumble in response, nothing else. I reach behind myself and untie my apron to hang it up on a hook near the back door. I hear the rustle of clothing behind me and I know that Antonio has approached my brother.

"It smells good…"

"How about a kiss for the cook?" I turn around just in time to see Romano glare and punch him in the shoulder.

"Shut up, bastard."

"Oh, mi amour, you wound me so…" This. This was sickening. I wrinkle my nose and proceed toward the stairs. The metal groans under my weight, but it isn't enough to drown out the sound of the two bickering men beneath me. I sigh as I reach the top, pull open the door to our "home" and enter my room.

It is small, like most of the building. With one twin sized bed pushed against the wall, a dirty window I've never bothered to open, let alone clean, a chest of drawers for my clothes, and a small table for my alarm clock and a lamp. I have accumulated a mess of decoration on my walls, from posters of famous football players (real football that is, not this silly American stuff), to drawings and paintings by my own hand.

As you've probably already guessed, I aspire to be an artist. As you've probably also guessed, I'm pretty low on money. I cannot afford to buy canvas, or expensive oil-based paints. There are no HB pencils in my possession, and I have but one lonesome paintbrush I keep in my box. Ah yes, my box, I have yet to explain that. The money I do have, I spend on spray paint, the paint you don't need brushes or canvas to use. It may not be as cheap as acrylics, but in the long run, it's worth it. As long as I don't get caught.

I pull my uniform black shirt over my head and lay it over the end of my bed, as I'll need it for tomorrow's shift. I throw on a plain white tee over my jeans and lace up my converse in place of my boots. I'm ready.

I once again trudge the stairs and skip past my family members (for Antonio is already like a brother to me), and out the back door.

I decide I will visit the park, as I usually do on the days I want to escape from the two love birds back home, but also because the route will take me past my latest work.

I whistle a tune as I walk, hands in my pockets, along the cracked street of our small town. We live in a small American town alongside a small river, and the place is filled with small people with small minds. Not a place you'd normally find two Italian brothers and a Spaniard. But I guess we just help this town get a little more noticed. It's an all-around poor place. The students are poor, the workers are poor, hell, even the mayor is poor, although he's better off than the rest of us. Not only are we poor, but we are the fifth highest ranked for teenage pregnancies in the state. We have a high ranked violence, gang activity, druggies, you name it. With a grand total of 3,524 residents, one high school, and too many fast food stops to count, this place is strange. Am I proud? No. Not when I think of my home, back in L'italia. In Italy.

I came here with my brother, who came here with Antonio, who came here with his mother, who died a year ago from a heart attack. It stabbed Antonio in the heart to have to say goodbye to his mother, but he's still cheerful as ever.

The park is in my sight, and so is the old liquor store, where I left my present the night before. As I expected, there is a cop car pulled up beside it, and a tall blonde examining my art I have seen him before. He is always the one they call to investigate my work. I wonder what he thinks of it. Does he think it is magnificent? Or does he only see trashy vandalism? I hang my head and trudge on. What will I do now? Continue breaking the puny law? I feel as if I am stuck in a rut. Trapped. What will be my next move? Non so… I do not know…

Fratello- brother

Mi amour- my heart

L'italia- Italy

Non so- I do not know