The old man was feeling rebellious and nostalgic. He hated the direction that the world was heading. People now have the audacity to think that they matter. People were putting themselves above everyone else. People now have no respect. The old man thought of this as he stared at his wrinkled face in the mirror. He had been through a lot. Two wars, three marriages, four different states that he called “home”, and nine children that won’t take the time to text or call him. Aging is a disease, but he treated it as an advantage. He could practically get away with anything. No one was going to arrest him. No one was going to shout at him. No one suspects the old guy. He loaded up bottles of spray paint in vibrant, intelligent colors in an inconspicuous plastic bag and began to mentally and physically prepare for the cold walk. His wife stopped him at the door,
“And where are you heading off to, dear? It’s awfully cold.” she asked him.
“Just off to change the world, honey. I’ll be back before dinner.” he replied
“Ok then, but while you’re off changing the world, at least where a scarf.”
The old man grabbed a wool, plaid scarf from the hook beside the door and left the warmth of his small house.
On the street, he passed two policemen, but as he suspected, they did not even look his way. “Pity” he thought to himself. The old man wished it wasn’t this easy. He searched for a depressing blank wall, one that needed his touch. One that was stained by the present. He finally stumbled upon one in a side alley. There was maybe a half a second of doubt that crossed his mind, but he was tired of feeling insignificant and ignored. He started to paint. Vandalism was “against the law” but, once again, no one suspects the old guy. He painted wise words, old words, words that weren’t even used anymore. He painted pictures of his childhood, of the blue sky that has now turned a sickly shade of gray. He painted the good times, even the bad. He painted everything that made him him. He stepped back to admire his work. The colors blended together perfectly and the words were so eloquent. Maybe in my next life I’ll be a teacher, he thought to himself as he snapped a quick picture to text to his wife. The technology of the modern era was horribly confusing and foreign to him, even on his ancient flip phone. He was very pleased with himself, and hummed quietly as he placed the colorful weapons back in the plastic bag. He checked the time and quickly exited the alley, for his wife was waiting with dinner.