The smell of wet brick and something earthy - expensive sod - filled Toby Nealy's nose as he crept along the neatly trimmed lawn of the fancy house. His backpack thumped against his back - the clatter of spray paint cans just barely piercing the sound of the music in his headphones. He crept up to the side wall of the house, zipping his bag open and pulling out three colors of spray paint - red, blue, and black. He popped the caps, pressing down and beginning to spray. He smirked to himself as the phrase "I CAME BY" took shape. He outlined the red letters in blue, than in black, muttering along to the lyrics of his punk song as he continued. But a sound jolted him from his concentration. The front door of the house he was tagging opened. His heart leapt into his throat.

"Shit!"

He whispered. He stuffed two of his spray paint cans back into his bag and clutched the other in his hand, turning his music off and hiding behind a bush as footsteps squelched through the wet grass towards him.