I remember the day I first saw a piece by Barcode. I had been walking home from work, when I saw something sparkle in the corner of my eye. Amidst the chaos of the city, I saw that light, and for a moment I thought I was dreaming. Then as I searched for it, stopping by a bench so I didn’t look weird just standing up, when I saw them. Little droplets made of glass hung from the traffic lights. They were shaped like teardrops, as though the artist had captured rain itself.
They were skewed, as though they hadn’t been put on straight, but I think that’s what made it look so natural. In the sunlight they painted flecks of rainbow lights on the shop walls behind me, and I couldn’t help but silently marvel at them.
A crowd of people noticed them to, as they stopped to see what I was staring at
“It’s barcode.” Someone whispered. I hadn’t known what that meant, as I then saw a police man come up to our corner to see what the fuss was about. He too was confused, till he saw the tears.
He swore, and then pulled out his radio.
“Guys we have another one of the things by that Barcode guy.” He said, “Gonna need the electricians to get it down form the light.”
Another voice came from the radio a second later, “Seriously? Ok, fine I’ll call them in.”
The crowd then dispersed, and I did too, as I was slightly saddened by the fact this Barcode guy was going to have his art taken down. Then I realized that this guy had some serious guts. How the hell had he gotten them up there in the first place? I wondered.
I headed home that night, wondering this till near midnight, when I heard the sound of sirens down the street of my apartment. I headed out, dressed in a regular t-shirt and jeans, and saw that the tears had been replaced with a much larger abstract work that hung on the pole between the traffic lights.
Then I saw a figure run off down the street, right towards me. I waved to him, unsure if he could see and opened my apartment door, as he fled inside. “Go in the closet.” I told him, as I saw police going to the nearby store looking for him. I had no doubt this man was Barcode, but I figured it wasn’t the best time to ask.
I heard him shut the door of the closet as the police knocked on my door.
"Ma'am have you seen a young man about 24 years old run by?" They asked, one cop stealing glances into my apartment.
"No." I said, trying to sound as confident as possible.
"Ok, thanks for your time."
The door shut, and then I went to the closet and opened it, wanting an answer.
"Are you Barcode?"