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I look at all the gang signs painted on the wall — names, warnings, threats, brags — all undecipherable to anyone else but a banger. A new sign will now be added.

I vigorously shake the can of gold sparkle spray paint, hearing the rattle of the mixing balls echo loudly down the empty street.

Then I push the spray-button and add the new sign: a simple ellipse bisected with an angled slash. It is my own private joke, whether they understand it or not.

I am letting them know this is now a No-Halo Zone.

Angels not allowed.


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