“This is my outline,” Zed announced, flipping open her sketchbook and shining her cell phone light onto a drawing of Lorde Zed, her tag. The letters were three-dimensional, interlaced like fresh noodles, the illest tag Zed had ever drawn. It wasn’t quite wildstyle, but she was pleased. She’d redrawn it dozens of times, rubbing her thumb-sized eraser into a pathetic pink speck. This was the third time she’d be slashing another artist’s work, and it was sure to be her best work yet. She wanted the original artist to see this and remember her name forever. She was going to Sherman this motherfucker.

“How in the shit are we going to tag a twenty-foot wall?” Apollo asked, glaring at Zed. His tone was pesky, but she was pleased that he’d said “we.” He was learning.

“With this,” Zed said, coolly retrieving a rusted ladder that was stashed next to an oddly pristine dumpster. She was relieved that it was still there. A YouTube video from January had shown the artist, a quiet, spectacled young white woman, leaving the ladder on-site after a montage of her touching up the mural. At the time, Zed had wondered if that was a mic drop or an offer of generosity. Now the artist’s intentions were irrelevant. The ladder was an opportunity, her opportunity.

“I think that dumpster would work better,” Sol suggested. “It’s probably more stable.”

“Yeah,” Kai seconded. Zed nodded, returning the ladder to the side of the building. Apollo and Theo followed her, placing their shoulders onto the dumpster. Zed noticed that they left a space between them. It was probably for Sol, but she confidently filled the slot, jumping in. “On three,” she announced. They heaved in unison, the dumpster easily submitting. While Theo goofily flexed his arms to a disinterested Sol and beaming Kai, Apollo and Zed peeked inside. It was empty, not even harboring a smell.

“Must be new,” Apollo shrugged. Zed didn’t have any other theories, but she was jealous. Even the trash cans were clean on this side of town. She wished she could say the same about the rat-harboring dumpster located behind her uncle’s apartment in East Point. The rats were so cozy in that dumpster, they didn’t even scatter when it opened. With their noses cocked upward and their beady eyes brimming with expectation, Zed always imagined them saying, “About damn time.” Her uncle agreed. He’d started calling taking out the trash “making a delivery.”

Zed fetched her gloves, masks, and two white canisters from her backpack, tossing them onto the dumpster and then hoisting herself up. She paused to take in the view. There wasn’t much to see, but even when Zed was only slightly elevated, she felt a calming clarity, a sense of enhanced understanding that was only accessible from certain heights.