Graffiti on a desk in a seventh grade math classroom:
"The cake is a lie."
I'm fascinated by how much of the graffiti I see is not pornographic or obscene, or even offensive in any way. This one makes me wonder, "what cake?" I like the ones that make me wonder. I see a class in my mind, disappointed by a lack of cake, and as the students protest loudly, one quiet girl in red scrapes into her desk, "The cake is a lie." From that day on, she wears only black. Every day now, she sees through the veil of lies to the truth of it all: all cakes are lies. All truths are lies. It's all just one, big, stinking lie. So nothing matters, just like the cake that never was. You might as well bake a cake every day, or bake no cakes at all. What's the big deal with cakes, anyway? She'll go on feeling like this until she turns thirteen and discovers Hermann Hesse.