Graffiti on Elm Street

:: Sometime in the early night, those walking on Elm Street notice the bold green and orange graffiti freshly sprayed on the brick walls of the downtown buildings. It reads:
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
On another wall it reads:
truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
On a third:
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? FILTH! UGLINESS!
The last wall's graffiti reads:
imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here

*MacGregor is standing before the walls, hands clasped behind his back and the chill december wind whipping his long coat around his form. The blood he painted himself with, both human and kindred, has long since been washed away since last evening. Kine pass around him filling the air with the billowing steam of their breath against the cold. None rises from the mouth or nose of the Pinkerton. After a moment, he removes a small note and though he knew the words by heart he still repeated them softly to himself as he first read them on the page and then on the wall. He smirks some, though there appears to be no other outward sign that the graffiti has disturbed him.*

:: The graffiti, which appeared Friday night, is completely erased by Monday.

*Watching as the kine cleaning crew begin to arrive (this being sunday evening), Andrew nods to himself before turning on his heel and heading into the evening. The paper he was holding returns to the interior pocket of his coat.*