Hype

Chapter One

Ethan crouched over an empty backpack, which laid stretched open on his bedroom floor. Cradled in his arms were six different colours of spray paint, which he got from a box he kept hidden in the back of his closet. 

'Six ought to be enough,' he thought, loading the cans meticulously into the nylon bag. On second thought, he grabbed two more white and two cans of ultra-flat black.

'Tips,' he said to himself as he patted his pants before stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his black hoody. Coming up empty, he cast his gaze to a small computer desk that was in the corner of his tiny room. Still crouched, he spotted a seal-able sandwich bag that was at eye level. He scooped up the bag and found a place for them inside his already bulging cargo pants pocket.

The elevator in his building was always slow so he opted for the stairs. It was only four flights, but it always reeked of rotten fish and urine. The rotten fish smell wafted in from the sushi restaurant, which was located on the street level of his building. It wasn't the best place to eat, but they were convenient and offered a 10% discount to tenants in the building. Despite the Japanese cuisine, it was actually owned and operated by a family of Korean immigrants.

Pulling up his sagging pants, Ethan waddled down the stairs and made his way onto the street. Walking past a pile of black garbage bags, Ethan kicked them to watch the rats scurry out and into a nearby sewer drain.

Going out at night writing graffiti didn't exactly fit into his mother's idea of a legitimate career path, but for the struggling 17 year old, it at least provided him a means to express his creativity.

Walking with a sense of purpose, Ethan meandered through the crowded sidewalk. His swagger was aided by the rhythmic beats that blasted through his headphones. After making a quick stop at a corner store bodega, Ethan soon found himself jaywalking across the street, trying to make sure he didn't get hit by one of the seemingly endless parade of infamously aggressive New York City cabs.

Ethan entered the subway station on Nostrand Ave, paid his fare, and waited on the platform. Keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him, he swayed his head rhythmically to the music while mouthing the words to one of his favourite rap songs. The only time he looked up was while taking liberal sips from his energy drink. He tried to ignore the muggy stench from the underground rail system, which he was all too familiar with.

Eventually, the screeching roar of the old train drowned out the sound in his headphones and Ethan took small steps forward. The train arrived with a rushing gust of wind and the doors split open, allowing a flood of passengers to spill out. Ethan shuffled in and found a seat.

Lifting his head to take another sip, he spotted a cute girl sitting opposite to him. Instinctually, he looked at her shoes. She was wearing the bred Jordan 11 lows. Working his way up, Ethan's eyes crawled up her slim-fitted jeans to her army green bomber jacket. Eventually, their eyes met and Ethan saw that she was a staring back at him, but not in a good way. She had a look of disdain that adorned many women who were sick of the constant harassment of men, especially on the subway.

Ethan took another sip of his energy drink, giving him a moment to think of something witty to say. If he waited too long, the moment would be lost and it would become increasingly awkward the more time he allowed to pass. He had to make his move.

"Nice shoes," he said, crafting a sincere smile.

The girl removed one of her earbuds and gave an expression to indicate she didn't hear him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I just said, nice shoes."

"Thanks," the girl said, looking down at his paint-splattered Air Max 90s. Before she said anything else, he was already on the defensive.