Wet cement By David Paik

Wet Cement

David Paik’s only goal in life is to somehow fit in a dad joke into whatever thing you are talking about.

So, I was walking through my calm, suburban neighbourhood when the wet, glimmering shine of freshly placed cement caught my eye. “F.A.N.-TASTIC,” I said as I approached it with a hunter-like determination, but from a third-party perspective, my cringing towards the cement paralleled the awkwardness of saying goodbye to a friend and then proceeding to walk with them in the same direction. I got there, eventually. There, I was, a few steps away from destiny. In my head, I was already painting a mural or the classic, “Candice was here,” in the centre of the cement canvas. My name isn’t Candice, but I find that name funny for some reason. As I stuck my oversized index finger over the cement, I noticed a mannequin dressed as a construction worker holding a sign. At the top of the sign, in big, bold letters it said: “Helloooo Stranger! Don’t do It,” proceeded below by a small font size message that only a viewer who was as close as I could observe.

Helloooo Stranger! Don’t do it.

This cement floor was finely handcrafted by hard-working folks around these parks, and it would be a complete, painful shame if we had to clear out another one of your creative doo-doos. Could we possibly interest you in walking a few blocks down and defacing a different cement floor? Or, there is a great coffee shop up the street that you could go to?

Ok. I see you are still standing before this wet cement. And I understand that maybe you’re right to do this. It is not often that you walk across a chance like this. And now that the opportunity has risen once more, you are bound to take it.

I’d like to invite you to think about why you would do this. To ruin a day’s work? To solve your immediate urges? Or are you desperate to leave a permanent mark in this world? Who the heck knows why you are here today, but one thing is for sure, you woke up today and told yourself: “I’m gonna fu#$ up a nice, smooth cement floor!”

Maybe there’s an off chance you might change your mind. Maybe you might continue to walk, perhaps pet a dog, or wait for a stranger to ask you about that amazing new haircut you got. But no, who are we kidding? If someone asked you that question, you might as well book the first flight to California,find your way to that Hollywood actor you really like, and ask them to marry you, because buddy, you’re dreaming. I guess I can understand. Sometimes you have the urge to resolve your immediate emotions (although taking it all out on our floor is less than desirable), it’s overwhelming, I get it. I’m guessing if I told you that if you continue on without getting your fingers dirty, this deeply encoded need to ruin our pretty neighbourhood floor with a silly little smiley face will go away eventually, you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s true. You can put your trust in my fake, plastic hands. Maybe you’ve been lied to before. Been told this before, yet that fearful feeling and desire to do wrong is still there. Those fears and emotions riddle your heart with scars, yet you are strong to have come this far. Unlike me, you are no dummy. Yet, often, you stumble over the cracks of your cobblestone heart. Perhaps every floor was wet enough to ruin, and you continued to deface it with your silly, overthought emotions - stupidly.

And every time you realize the cruel fiction of your solace after imitating Banksy, you swear to yourself you’ll try a little less next time. A little less open, a little quieter. You’ve told yourself it’s not worth your time. You’re smarter than this. And I’m here to tell you that things will be different, even though I have absolutely no evidence to support that claim. This time is different, I promise. Why would I lie to you? Why would I want to hurt you? This time, perhaps, there is no wet cement for you to draw on. This time, things are going to be different.