A Kiss in Time
By Pat Henshaw
From the time I knew the difference between spray paint and a soda can, I’ve wanted to be a muralist. When I was a kid, my mom and I would walk back to our apartment through the dingy streets of downtown, past monumental brick walls painted with gateways to better places.
On 12th Street, a group of stylized children beckoned me to a pristine playground where everyone was happy and smiling. The painted paradise was signed Mo’e. One day, I promised myself, I’d be Mo’e and give other kids a dream like the one he’d given me.
After my mom died, I began my career as a tagger, got caught, went to juvie, got out, tagged again, went back to juvie, and got out. At seventeen I recognized the revolving door, so got a job selling stuff to tourists in Old Town.
Ten yea
