We stand there, vigilance level set to the max. Our eyes flick here and there constantly. We threaten people for leaning over the barricades. Our batons are at the ready, and so are our guns. No one moves through us.

We’re each handed a Plexiglas shield to carry in front of us. It makes us feel better and worse at the same time. We have fleeting thoughts about nonverbal messaging, but we do what we’re told. We stand in a line, ready to serve and protect.

WILL/EMZEE

The best time to tag is the middle of the night, but after school is when I’m free. I’ve made my peace with it.

The best time to mural is at dusk. Early enough that you still got some light, late enough that you can hide your face if you need to.

It’s not unusual for me to see a big police hoopla. SWAT teams enjoy moving around dusk as well. No rhyme or reason. You’d think they’d prefer full daylight. All the better to shoot you by, my dear. I picture them cackling like cartoon villains, dressed in their strange new urban camo.

I guess we should have known they were coming for us when someone went out and made fabric. Urban insurgency.

It is unusual to see such a big gathering of onlookers. That’s what really holds me up.

I’m supposed to be heading home. Long before now, actually.

It should be dark, but it doesn’t look it, with all the floodlights. It should be cold, but it doesn’t feel it.

The crowd is getting heated.

The body, people keep saying. Move the body. The ambulance is down the end of the block. Only vehicle on the street with its lights off.

But they don’t move the body. They don’t move her for hours. The sun goes down. They roll in lights. Walk around her like some set dressing. She is out of sight of the crowd, but the cops circle like vultures.

People gather, watching. Shouting. Cops come stand at the edge of us, with bullhorns. They order us to disperse.

We are not to wonder. We are not to feel. We are not to question the things we see before us.

We surge against the police line tape. It is not a wall. We are held in place because we let ourselves be … for how much longer? How much longer?

I slip from the crowd. Pull my spray cans from my satchel. Black. Gray. Red. White. Pause a second … Blue.

Shake. Listen to the telltale ball-bearing rattle.

Speak. My arms arc over my head.

I write the words in big letters on the side of a brick building. This space, I’ve been saving. It deserves something huge and beautiful. Something that would take more than a night to complete.