Paintbrush -- check, heavy fuel oil -- check... Now the only thing left to do is paint…

Paintbrush -- check, heavy fuel oil -- check... Now the only thing left to do is paint the wall.

The paintbrush in your hand is like a loaded revolver. What will it be, desperado? Quite a few things come to mind...

"NO PARKING"

You've spoken. The wall will now silently repeat the message. For a decade or so, until the sea air degrades the paint, adding another layer of detritus to the city.

"Very poetic." The lieutenant nods in appreciation -- it doesn't sound sincere. "Real poetry. Should we return to our murder investigation? I hear there's a really bad one we're supposed to solve."

Let the wall remain blank. For now. [Leave.]

"I LOVE YOU CUNO"

"SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL IS GOING TO HAPPEN"

"MOTHER OF ALL WALLS"

(Draw a 3,500 year old pictogram of a human being.)

"RENE LIVES!"

"FUCK THE POLICE"

The lieutenant looks at the wall in dismay:

"But we are the police..."

"Yeah -- fuck us."

"But why? We work twelve-hour shifts. We get shot at, spat on..."

Hah! Maybe there's a reason for that!

"But what do we work on? KEEPING EVERYTHING THE WAY IT IS."

"Hmh..." Just a hum. No reply.

You've spoken. The wall will now silently repeat the message -- for a decade or so, until the sea air degrades the paint.

Keep it to yourself.

"You're right, you're right. Is it too late to change it?"

The lieutenant raises his eyebrows, then sighs.

The wall towers over you with its indelible message.

You've spoken. The wall will now silently repeat the message. For a decade or so, until the sea air degrades the paint, adding another layer of detritus to the city.

"WHAT SHADOW LIES THERE, BENEATH THE BRIGHT GLEAM"

"THIS IS REALLY A MIRROR"