As a piece of graffiti it lacks artistry. The letters are prototypical, like those which children produce before their fine motor skills become a match for their imagination. Yet we are drawn in all the same, hooked by what is missing, by the lack at the heart of the message.
BEFORE I DIE I WANT THE
Was the author disturbed before the wish could be fully uttered? Did he – something about those letters tells me it was a he – flee of his own accord, racked by indecision in the face of life’s possibilities? Or is there, perhaps, a rogue Lacanian roaming the streets, having the last laugh and reminding us that desire is always a story without end.