Station called it silver and spelled it out in all caps with a thick black sharpie wherever the finest in dirtbag graffiti was being served in those days. Sometimes her dark markings looped across the faded linoleum walls of basement clubs or the dank stalls of Chinatown afterhours establishments but her favourite medium was flesh. Cleavage, shoulder blades, interior of the forearm, armpit, lower left love handle. If she knew you and liked you and saw you at a show or in aisle nine of the 24 hour Save On at 3 in the morning grabbing rations for an inevitable hangover she would stop you and leave her mark on your body. S I L V E R. | image @jetmour