IGNOBLE

8:22PM, May 11th:

I kneeled down and swept the box cutter across the sidewall of the car's rear passenger-side tire. The wheel deflated in seconds, a rush of warm air silently escaping from the incision. It was Olivia's teal sports-coupe, and now it was inoperable.


It wasn't my usual fair. Vandalism. I'd conned a demonstration from a greasy mechanic over in Ember Park, just to get the idea of it. The lead-up to my question was awkward, but I could tell by the condition of his shop and his salty appearance that he wouldn't flinch. I was right. He laughed when I finally cut to the chase and told him I expected a mild explosion and lots of noise when slashing a radial. "No atmosphere", he crowed as he pushed a blade through a scrap tire to demonstrate. "You make a nice big gash across the side, it makes no sound at all. Not like a blowout on the interstate".


And he was right. In under 5 minutes I'd silently cut through tires on all seven of the cars in the lot. With time to spare, I undid my backpack and removed the can of high-gloss red spray-paint. This part I needed no instruction on. I'd spent most of my youth and all of my up-tight, private-university-education studying art. What came next was merely a reflex.