A guilty pleasure of mine is to watch that TV show, Cops, like when I’m running on the treadmill at the YMCA. I watch it without sound because I always have some sort of fast, aggressive and heavy music searing my inner ears via iPod. On the episode I watched today, two cops in Cincinnati, Ohio got dispatched to a graffiti call. The two cops arrived at the scene, an apartment building. Two guys were sitting there outside the building, beneath a long graffiti sentence. They made no move to flee, they remained still. The graffiti looked like it could have been written with a grease pencil or an oil pastel in black. It said, “I have a vision and I want to see it through.” One of the guys had black stains all over his fingers, the camera zoomed in on his hands. The guy looked like he was in his early to mid twenties. He rose and spoke with the officers. I have no idea what was being said, I just wanted to watch. For some reason it seemed like the spectacle would be more pure if I didn’t have the audio. The kid didn’t seem drunk or anything. I mean, I don’t know. He wasn’t swaying. He wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t twitchy. There was something odd about his eyes though. He looked like he was on the verge of crying if you looked at his eyeballs...but the rest of his face conveyed resolve. He seemed intent on standing there and conversing with the cops and responding to every question they put to him. After about seven minutes of questioning, the young man turned around and placed his hands behind his back. The police put handcuffs on him and escorted him to the back of their patrol car. The two police men then walked up to the graffiti on the wall. They read it and looked at each other and smiled. And then the show went to a commercial.