The front door to my very first apartment sat a whopping 70 feet away from the train tracks, on the west side of ASU not far from the neighborhood bar Casey Moore's. A half-dozen times a day, my walls would vibrate and my cat would hide under the couch as a damn train blasted past. Often, the horn was so loud I would have to pause a telephone conversation to wait for it to stop screaming. One small perk I discovered was that as the cars endlessly clanked and rolled by, I saw my fair share of graffiti art. Most of it was relatively lame — some kid with spray paint scribbling "eat my shit" on the side of the car.... More >>>