Every night, about half way through my 10 km walk, I round a particular corner on to College Ave. And every night I am stunned by the poignancy of the graffiti that greets me just as I round the corner:
And there it is. Every night, in unassuming black spraypaint. An obvious piece of stencil work, even though I’ve never seen it anywhere else. But what’s so gripping about it is its diminutive nature. The two words fit in less than a half of a square foot of concrete, and are only lit by the neon glow of the strip-mall across the roadway.
Save Darfur. And every night I am struck by this message, and I voice one word in my head – please.
Like the outcry from developed nations, this plea is dwarfed by the empty ocean of neon-lit concrete and progress that surround it.