Writing on the wall

Somewhere in Detroit

I walk past this wall at least once a week.

Most of the time I don’t understand the spray-painted messages on the concrete barrier. Are they gang tags? Bored kids? Street philosophers spreading the good word?

Most of the time I don’t bother looking at anything in this neighborhood, as the decay and neglect depress me.

Most of the time I’m focused on reaching my car before I’m knifed for the two bucks I have in my wallet.

This day is different. I don’t know what made me look but I did. I looked and I saw this message. Clearly, it needs to be in my head.

Do not tell your story in anger.