The art in vandalism.

Remember going tp-ing?

(How do you even spell tp-ing? tee-pee-ing? t.p.ing?)

waiting until the fall sky gets dark enough to cover you, but not late enough to be suspicious...dressing in black...rounding up your friends to select the latest crush, coach or enemy's home to target...buying the cheapest toilet paper you could find at the supermarket...smiling sheepishly at the grocery boy as he rings up your purchases...running to the car with your mischievous goods... getting that tingle in your gut as you drive, perferably in a big get-away van, to your chosen victim's home...unwrapping the tissue quietly in the front yard with your head on a swivel...the soft whispering "wooosh" ringing in the air as you launch the first roll over that big oak in the front yard...frantic running and muffled squeals between you and your girlfriends...the frustration of not getting that piece of paper to hang on the branch...the desire to cover the hedges with white...the dead silence spreading across the grass when even a flicker of movement rustles from within the house...the surge of energy that comes from seeing the shadow of a face in the window...the last minute attempts at toilet paper draping...the sprint and giggles to the get-away van...the relief that follows the not-getting-caught...the laughter that lasts until you get home.