Way to go, tagging your deep message of "fire to the prisons" on the historic, family-owned, inexpensive apartment building. I did notice meanwhile that the new development of soul-sucking, corporate-owned shitbox condos right across the street was neither tagged nor set fire to. Excellent choice and very ballsy of you. I really have to say, though, you really stuck it to the man—that man being me, the blue-collar, clock-punching proletariat who had to paint over your musing. I feel so ashamed to be a puppet of the corporations, painting over the substance and depth of your message, but I cannot help it, I am a prisoner to the mighty dollar. Fuck me, right? In short, stay in the suburbs—and when mom and dad send the next check to cover your tuition, instead of buying cans of spray paint, buy a giant rubber fist and spend your valuable evenings fucking yourself with it. Whatever your cause may be, I'm now wholly against it, as, to paraphrase Marx (that's Groucho, by the way), I'd never belong to any club that would have you as a member. Viva Le Douchebag!