"Societal Terrorism"

The spray-paint cans rattle in your backpack as you round the street corner, Maggie in the lead, the pale skin of her arms like spears swinging from the sleeves of her t-shirt. Both of you skirt the puddles of illumination washing down from the streetlamps, straying into front yards, and--somewhat comically on your part--lobbing yourselves over low fences and hedgerows, which, you think, just makes the two of you more conspicuous among the brass door knockers and botanical lawn sculpture, but she doesn't seem to mind. Even your very presence here is nothing short of societal terrorism.