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cleaning up graffiti. Patrick knew better than to argue with the judge on any of it, but he would try to persuade the kid’s PO to assign something else for community service.
    In any other kid, cleaning up the mess left by other graffiti artists would be effective, but Patrick knew from experience it just inspired Jay to do it again. Something about washing away tags and creating a blank wall didn’t seem like punishment for Jay, but just a bit of effort to make a clean canvas. Sometimes the wall would stay blank for a few days, sometimes even for a few months, but eventually a painting straight from Jay’s sketchbooks would fill the void. Ironically, those few places where Jay’s spray-painted attempts at art survived were always graffiti-free after that. Sometimes he would get caught, but most of the time nothing ever came of it. Patrick had to wonder just how many more walls were out there, covered in Jay’s work, that he and the police would never find.
    It was almost dinnertime when Patrick finally herded Jay out of the building. He fumbled with his cell phone, bringing up his best friend Corbin’s phone number.
    “Where’s the truck?” Jay asked, scanning the parking lot.
    “I left it at work.”
    “Huh? Why? And who’re you calling?”
    “Your godfather. Now go sit on that bench before you fall over.”
    “Pat!” Corbin answered on the third ring, his normally flamboyant voice panicked. “What’s up? Are you okay?”
    “What’s wrong, Corbin?”
    “I just saw that shit on the news. What a way to end your first week on the job! You weren’t involved with any of it, were you?”
    “What? What stuff on the news?”
    “You….” Loud club music exploded over the phone line. It died again a moment later. “Sorry, the DJ is doing sound checks, I had to slip out the back. Anyway, the news! Were you involved?”
    “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Patrick admitted. “I’ve spent the last six hours walking Jay through a youth court hearing, and the four hours before that sitting in jail. It’s been a really, really long night, and my truck is still at work. I was hoping I’d catch you early enough that you could come give me and Jay a lift?”
    “Jail? Holy fucking shit, Pat! What happened?
    “I got into a fight.”
    “A fight?” Corbin laughed. “I can’t wait to hear about it! But, Pat, we open in less than an hour, and I’m short a bartender and two bouncers tonight. On a fucking Friday night too. I can call one of my sisters and see if they can pick you up? I bet one of them could watch Jay tonight too if you’re awake enough to come in.”
    Patrick groaned. The extra money he’d been able to pick up filling in for Corbin’s unreliable bouncers had helped out a lot over the last two weeks, making it possible for him and Jay to keep living off of pizza instead of ramen noodles. All of their bills were paid, but after they’d moved across the country and he’d shelled out money for a decent apartment downtown, Patrick’s account balance was now hovering near single digits. He didn’t even have enough money to get them a cab home. “I’ll come in. I can be awake. Don’t worry about calling your sisters, though. We can catch the train. Or something.”
    “I promise, none of them are going to hit on you. They got over that years ago.” Corbin Hollis was the youngest of five, and he was the only boy in his family. Patrick, being an only child and the son of parents who were always either working or drunk, had spent more time in the Hollis house as a child than he ever had in his own. Corbin’s dad, Jeremy, had taught them how to box as teenagers, and in the hormone-driven confusion of puberty, it was out-and-proud Corbin he’d gone to for advice about his own sexuality. Unfortunately, the Hollis girls had taken Patrick’s coming out as some kind of personal challenge and had spent the rest of high school flirting with him.
    “I prefer the train,” Patrick