Photo by: sheacote
Polaroid taken under a highway overpass in San Diego.
I walk to the bus station at the large mall as I have been every day, I walk along the swamp ditch. I see a police officer smoking a joint.
We lock eyes and he tosses it. It was too obvious, he knows, he leaves. I lose track of distance and im by the end of the ditch, a river infront of me, across the river: A highway overpass.
Naturally I continue on, only to find over practiced throw ups coming to life from the pages of toys black books.
Right when I think its over I see a would be path cut off by gators on the far end of the overpass.
I slowly walk across-southbound next to the overpass-trying not to splash, I dont want to get my shoes soaked. I splash.
Gators pay no attention. I do this on the bushy side. What lurks beneath?
I come out on the other side of the swamp to a continuing trail on land.
Blank walls. I keep walking. Yes. Amazing. Should I go on? Is this some kind of gangster territory? Fuck them. I go further and further zig zagging back and forth the overpasses legs.
Graffiti museum. The lighting in this museum was a perfect fit.
A treasure trove full of amazingly large and well thought out pieces and murals. Tags from all over california, a holy ground. I refill my health at this Save Point. Rollers fifty feet over head. I am surprised to see the clean lines up above what seems like 4 stories. We dont get paid for this I say to myself.
It makes me wonder if graffiti should be in any indoor public museum.
Places like this, for us by us, gives me the answer.
