"A white city eh? Why not Bob! Wine would stain with flare, scotch would caramelize the streets and walls would beg for text, but what about graffiti management then eh Bob?"
(puff tendrils, scotched essence)
"They'd scour the streets, coat the walls with their pathetic pens and inkpaints, but I'd flush the city with one spin of the wheel... red!"
"Now Bill, you see, there's always these conservative folks, despising non-commissioned urban decorative elements, but they eat up the advertisements, tongues lapping for more, hoping that the backlight will jump out and become that golden serpent of a ring before their pitiful selves so they can slobber all over it, bobble eyed, money spewing out of their pockets. And then you've got those street folk, the anti-consumerism blah blah capital-blah blah folk who think that investing out of their own pocket for others will somehow alter the world. But isn't that just another form of distraction, of advertising of propaganda? Ahahahaaaaargha... Let's see, I'll paint the city BLACK in March! Let's see what those white folk think of that! Ahaaahahaharaha!"
"What if we let those graffiti folk take care of it, let them paint it, cut costs you know?"
"And end up with a never-ending lattice veil of crap! You remember this morning George? Remember last night's drink in the porcelain king? Think of the city in colour chaos, of each individual's chaotically applied hand and your hangover, not on my watch George."
"Nah, I'll keep it simple and reinvent it, maybe we'll toss them street kids a few extra days to cover the walls, to mask the black, to liven it up just enough so that those square tops will beg for me to spin this wheel, beg for the city to reinvent itself and I'll give it to them."
(the wheel spins)
