The Writing Wall

 Affronted by a (practically) nonexistent warning sign, the weather-beaten plastic dangling idly from a nearby telephone pole, clearly stated, Private Property. Even though our previous attempt at this location resulted in a prying patrol car… the graffiti mural, a derelict carcass of a once prominent amusement park, was obviously too wicked to pass blindly.

Sprinting around with certain schoolgirl giddiness, the ridiculous amount of camerawhoring was starting to feel like some new Olympic sport. But before finally fleeing the scene, we noticed the black and red letters smeared across the far right side of the building that perhaps claimed an excuse to previous visitors. 'The Devil Made Me Do It'.
Disturbing to small degrees, it did seem outwardly apropos to our deviant trespassing acquisition… our forbidden spray paint entertainment.

(Vintage sequin butterfly shirt, Betsey Johnson tights, F21 skirt & jacket, Bakers fringe boots)