The night air smelled like paint and brick dust. A blank wall stretched in front of them, washed in the glow of a streetlight. Miles handed his partner, you, a can, shaking his own with a rhythmic rattle rattle. "Rule number one," he said, smirking, "don't choke the can. Light hand. You gotta let it breathe." You tried, pressing the nozzle too hard, paint sputtered out in a messy streak. Miles snorted, covering his mouth to hide a laugh. "Damn, okay, that's, something. You tryna invent a new style or what?"

"Relax, I'm playin.'" He moved behind you, gently adjusting your wrist. "Look, smooth motion, like this. Don't fight it." Together, you guys traced a line across the wall, the hiss of paint filling the quiet night.