Manhattan, New York

Kris sat in her room, staring up at the dark ceiling. She felt like a complete and total lame-o, because she had found an old silk white nightgown and put it on. It had to be around 11:30 at night, because it was all but pitch in her room. The soft glow of the streetlight shone through her window and curtains, leaving a glowy shadow over her bed. Her black hair was spread across her pillow, and she rolled over on her side in the bed. She wasn't overheating or upset, but she did feel unnerved. Nick had told her that he was going to go on a date with a girl named Victoria earlier, and Kris had a bad feeling about her, even just by the name. Victoria shared a lot of letters with vicious.

She tried to push the thought out of her head, but Nick was her best friend, and she didn't want him getting hurt. He hadn't been in a serious relationship since sophomore year, and Kris was starting to feel bad for him. He wasn't unattractive at all, he was actually pretty good looking. But Kris knew when he stopped his 'DOA' graffiti work, girls thought he was a sissy and stopped trying to get with him. Finally, Kris sat up in bed and walked into her bathroom that was attatched to her room. She had to carefully step over her sleeping friends, some on the floor, and others in the two chairs in her room. She flicked the light on lazily, and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't have on any makeup, but her cheeks were pink from rubbing against the pillow all night. She hadn't been in her bed long though, maybe just an hour or two. She had spent the rest of her time with Stacy, her best friend. Danny wasn't home yet, but then again, he rarely was at this time. Her mom was passed out somewhere in the house. Oh well.

"I'm such a caring sister." She said to her reflection, shrugging and flicking off the bathroom light. The cool temperature from the floor was still on her feet, and she slid back into her warm bed. This time, it didn't take long for her to fall back asleep. But she didn't get much sleep. She heard some soft pings at the roof, but though nothing of it. Probably just birds picking at the gutters. The pings kept going for a while, before they finally stopped. Kris frowned slightly and rolled over on her side once more, her bright blue eyes piercing in the dark.

She could have sworn she heard the scuffle of someones shoes in the distance, but she didn't pay any attention to it. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep, but more alarmed than before. She wondered if any of her friends had heard it. She was probably going crazy.

The night was young, and the city was alive. Of course the little corner that Sam lived in was barely breathing, suffocated by street corner thugs and racial barriers. He lay staring at the ceiling of his Manhattan apartment, occasionally taking a moment to glance over at the iridescent light that hummed the unchanging tune of monotony. At this moment he was Sam Gaudier, a prep student from a wealthy family with ties in both Spain, and the UK. He had never taken the time to learn Spanish like his mother, never had he found the need, but in New York the predicament had changed. Everything that he held to be true back home, was nothing to the new world that he lived in now. There was one similarity however, the one thing that would never change about Sam, the one thing that he knew to be true above all else. This 'thing' however was not simply an activity, or a place, or a fad that had carried over. It was a person, who Sam's public persona would never touch. He was a hero, an enemy of the system, and a creator of the most beautiful things on Earth. Armed with a ventilator, a black hoody, jeans, and a bag full of caps and stolen aerosol cans. He didn't need a cape; he had his I-pod. Sidekick? Only if they could run. He was the city, all city, every night, for the rest of his life; no feeling could compare. It was the energy that he thrived on. It was the pride he gained from the props that he would never be given. It was the SOURCE, and it was the name that all of Manhattan had learned from his year in the city as a graffiti writer.
He rolled his 5"11 frame from the couch to the floor. Groaning, he lifted himself up from the floor and attempted to rattle his brain back into reality. He slipped on his black jeans and his hoody that lay sprawled on the couch. He put his baseball cap over his head, followed by his mask and his hood. He walked toward the door and grabbed his bag which rattled like a dozen scattering marbles, and exited into the night.

Demetri kicked back in a leather arm chair. A bottle of his father's most expensive whiskey in his left hand. The tv remote was in his right. He flicked through the channels until he found Starwars playing. He took a drink and checked the clock. It read 11:45. He smiled to himself. He was smart enough to know that it was too drunk to drive anywhere cool. His stomach growled with hunger. I wonder if Pizza Palace is still open. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. the phone rang a couple of times before a voice answered.
"Hello, Pizza Palace. My name is Charlie, how may I help you?" a voice answered on the other line.
"Do you guys deliver?" Demetri asked in a slurred voice.
"Yes. What's your address?" Demetri gave his address in a bored tone.
"Okay. What can I get you?"
"I'd like a large pizza with pepperoni, sausage, and mushrooms. I'd also like an order of bread sticks and two liters of cola."
"Alright, you ordered a large pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom pizza, an order of breadsticks, and two liters o soda." He responded.
"Yes," he said.
"That'll be $17.50. It'll take 15-25 minutes for delivery."
"Alright. Thanks," Demetri replied and then hung up the phone. Demetri hated being stuck at home, but at this point he was feeling the whiskey and didn't care. He decided to text Kris and see if she was still awake.
"Hey. Are you awake? I ordered pizza and have free reign on the minbar. Come over if you want," was the message sent through text.

Lexie leaned up against a building in an alley. She had come out of the back door of a club to get some room to smoke. She was already kind of high, but she didn't care. She rolled her head back and looked at how tall the buildings were, she had to squint to try to keep focus. She put the joint to her lips and inhaled. Once she had finished she went back to the club, it wasn't anything fancy. People were packed together, dancing, drinking, and talking; kinda. The music was so loud you couldn't hear and her heart pounded with the drum beat. She felt alive, and blended into the crowd. She knew she might wake up with another tattoo in the morning but she didn't care, it was worth it.

" I had a pretty chill time tonight Vic" Nick said as she exited his car. She walked over to his side of the car giving him a swift kiss before winking at him and walking to her apartment building. He watched as she walked she looked good but was dumb as a lamp post. She wasn't the one for him he knew that but at least he could have some fun. Cranking up the car he drove down the street. It was still pretty early for him and he definitely didn't feel like going home with nothing to do.
Nick picked up his phone and called him main man Demetri.

" Yo wats up you drunk Im on my way so you can go ahead and get all pretty for me". With that he hung up and proceeded to drive. He knew that him and his best bud could entertain each other at least until he crashed in his guest room. The big question is what was Kris doing. He wondered if she was sleep or not. But he dared not call her or anything like that. Maybe she would come over with them he and Demetri would see what she was up to. They did most of the time anyway bothering her whether she wanted to be bothered or not.

Demetri had just rolled a joint when he heard his phone ring. Lighting it up, he answered.
"Yo wats up you drunk Im on my way so you can go ahead and get all pretty for me," Nick's voice rang in his ear, before he hung up again. Demetri went into the bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror. His beautiful face was reflected in the mirror. Demetri heard the doorman buzz his appartment.
"Hello, Sir, A lad from, er, Pizza Palace, says he has a delivery for you," Schmitz, the doorman said.
"Yes, Send him up," Demetri responded as he sprayed the house down with air freshener to mask the pungent smell of the pot he had been smoking earlier. Having access to money, meant that he has access to any drugs he wanted... As long as he didn't embarrass his family. A few moments later a knock on the door, interrupted his thoughts. He sauntered over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was a young, zitty boy wearing a Pizza Palace hat. Demetri opened the door.
"A large pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom pizza, an order of breadsticks, and two liters of cola?" the boy asked.
"Yeah," he responded.
"That'll be 17.75."
"Do you have change for a hundred?"
"Umm, no, sir." Demetri accepted the pizza and handed him the hundred.
"Just keep it," he responded before shutting the door in his face. Setting the pizza on the counter, he wandered into his room. Opening his closet, he decided on an Audioslave t-shirt, dark wash jeans, vans, and leather jacket. Checking himself out in the mirror, he flashed his best smile.
"You look hot," he said to himself, before he went into the kitchen and dug into the pizza and breadsticks. He waited for his best bud in the world to make it so he wouldn't have to spend the night alone and bored.

Kris jolted awake when she heard her phone buzz by her ear. She hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, but she was still a little groggy by the time she unlocked her phone's screen. She read the text from Demetri, and leaned back against her pillow. She didn't feel like getting up, but it didn't look like sleep was coming to her anytime soon. She pushed the hot covers off of her body before she walked into the bathroom, grabbing the quickest thing in her closet, which happened to be a short, tight, white dress. She slipped off her nightgown and put on the dress, trying to stretch it down over her butt so she didn't look like a slut. She instead just grabbed some lace leggings to cover most of her butt.

Once she was done, she leaned in the mirror and fixed her eyeliner, fluffling her slightly curled hair, before shutting off the bathroom light and walking out, grabbing a pair of black pumps and slipping them on her feet. She walked out quietly, stepping over her friends. She easily snuck out the front door, before walking the short distance to Demetri's house. It was pretty late, but the streetlights were on. A few people looked at her, but she just ignored them and kept walking. Once she arrived, she greeted the doorman before he allowed her to go up to Demetri's apartment.

When she finally reached Demetri's floor, she ran into a pimply faced pizza guy who's eyes widened at the sight of her. She smiled softly before stepping past him into the hallway. Once she arrived in front of Demetri's apartment door, she knocked a three times quickly before smiling.

"Your nightly homie is here." Kris said, a smile in her voice as she waited for Demetri to open the door. She wondered in the back of her mind if he had invited Nick. The three of them usually did everything together.

Demetri was on his third slice of pizza Kris knocked on the door.
"Your nightly homie is here," he heard Kris call. He smiled as he answered the door.
"Bonjour, Jolie Madamoiselle. Bienvenue a chez moi, (Hello beautiful lady, welcome to my home)" Demetri said in french. He opened the door and went back to his pizza. Chewing quietly, he took a drink out of the cola bottle.
"Sorry, I'm such a pig. Want a slice of pizza, a glass of wine, a joint?" he asked with a wink. Sitting down on the couch, he lit a joint and took a heavy drag off of it.
"Nick's coming over too." Demetri chose his words wisely.

Sam rolled down a still busy street on his board, with his mask flipped around in his hoody, in search of a spot. One that was visible from the road, but not directly in the path of other people. He rode past a nightclub, bumping incessantly with dnb basslines. He turned rather sharply around the corner and kicked up his board into his hands. Sam creeped through the blackness of the club's rear and shimmied his way up the fire escape. Getting to a flat platform, he applied his respirator, leaned back, and took a fresh can from his bag. He used his phone light to check the cap color. It was assumable white. He did this with approximately nine cans, which he lined up by darkness or hue:Black, Navy, Aqua, Green, Orange, another Orange, Pink, Yellow, White.

He proceeded to strip off the stock caps from the cans that were new, and began with a NY Fat Cap, a layer of orange to set the frame. Sam then moved on to extensions from his original lettering frame, sweeping off with vine like pieces, and simultaneously running through his first can of orange. He thought nothing of it as the piece engulfed him.He followed up with an aqua blue highlight around the orange, and entering into more details as time progressed. At the end of a four hour stint, Sam had gone through one and a half cans of orange, an entire can of black, and a majority of each remaining can. His final piece spelled out the work he had put in. It was his; it was the SOURCE.