He was new in the neighbourhood. His father had moved many times for work, and this time they moved into the house across the street.

I used to notice his brandname clothing and the quality of the products in his refrigerator.

I liked how his family treated me; they would often invite me over for meals and appreciated that their son had a new friend. They talked about topics I had never heard discussed in my own family and cooked dishes I had never tasted before.

His life and mine were very different. I knew that he liked the plans and conversations I offered. Not everyone invites you to go out and paint in the streets, discover city secrets, or find new spots you never imagined were so close by. Seeing the world from a different perspective.

On one occasion, we got caught by the police while spray painting. It was all a “misunderstanding.” I swear. Those who know me know I’m not harmful. Thanks to his father, we didn’t have to go to court or hire a lawyer. I remember going to court with my friend and his father, waiting in the hallway, and watching as his father went in, talked to the judge, laughed, chatted, and had coffee together. I couldn’t believe it. I wondered if his father was a mafia boss, a policeman, another judge, a politician, or just a guy who was wellliked. I never found out his true profession.

The judge ordered us to serve a onemonth house arrest. We could only leave home to go to school. He was very compassionate with us, but he didn’t know that my friend and I were neighbours. Or maybe he did.

I remember that house arrest with a lot of fondness. We spent hours on the rooftop, looking at the sea, the sky, the moon, and the stars. Enjoying life before the internet. Talking about the future. We drew in our notebooks and planned where and when we would paint in the streets again once the house arrest was over.