As Brad approached the two box cars and one round chemical car he felt the usual surge of energy. He felt the urge to run away and the urge to brazenly paint everything in site with his name — all at once. He dropped his back pack and open it. He reached into his back pocket and took out the golf gloves he used to guard his hands from the paint. He stayed, squatted down over the open backpack for a moment and listened.

He couldn't even hear the cars on the highway a mile or so off. He took out his can of dark blue paint.

Brad had already fitted the caps he needed on the paint before he left home. He got right to work. He had half his fill done before he heard the first sound other than the spray of the paint. Brad dropped down and waited. Another faint noise of stone on stone and then nothing. Perhaps some animal crossing the tracks, Brad thought. A deer? Brad got back to work. After a moment he reached back into his bag and produced a can of canary yellow for the outline. Michigan colors, he thought. His father would approve. Brad laughed to himself as he finished the outline. He stepped back, stood and grabbed his bag. He moved over to the next car and repeated the entire process.

Before too long he had solid throws on all three cars, each with a separate punchline. He always tried to include a punchline as an homage to Philadelphia graffiti, where it all started. He was finishing the last punchline and was actually laughing out loud at it.

More Free Than Willy, Even When Its Chilly!

Chilly was right, even with the gloves Brad's hands were cold and the paint was starting to be effected as well. It's a good thing I'm done, he thought. The can of blue was empty and he decided to walk down the tracks a little further to try and kill-off the yellow so he could roof the cans at Kelly's Garage or the empty supply house a block down, if Kelly's had a tow coming in.

After a moment Brad stepped back and took once last look over his work. Blue with yellow, yellow with blue. Three fill-ins with his name: "Noc". Sometimes he'd throw a "1" or "One" after his name if her felt like it. Tonight was about smashing some freight and getting home before his lost his fingertips to frostbite.

Brad put on his back pack, put in the empty can of blue paint and left it halfway unzipped. He started his way down the tracks listening to the sound of his steps on the cold wooden ties. He had tagged one electric box and was deciding if his hand were worth walking the distance to another one, next to a larger metal shed, a little ways on, when he heard it.

Turning around, unable to place the noise, he quickly ducked down. He waited. Nothing. He waited still. He started to stand up… There was that noise again! Cops? Railway workers? Hobos? Brad was ready to bolt when he heard a voice he recognized.