Standing knee-deep in the tall weed grass as it billows in the wind, he constantly looks over his right shoulder for any figures approaching in the distance. Fitted in a long-sleeved white tee-shirt, black pants, and black Adidas sneakers covered in the remnants of old paint, he posts in front of the large white wall on the back of the building with the bay glistening behind him. The dead of the night is quiet, except for the water softly washing up on the shore. He takes one more cautious glance to his right, and the sound of paint evading from the Rust-Oleum can suddenly begins to permeate the cool air.

The true act of graffiti is considered a problem by most. Those who take to the streets "bombing" whatever means of property they can get their hands on with a personalized tag are consequently vandals. And yet, even though graffiti has become something that is marketable and trendy, the real nature of it is illegal. For local vandal known as KRK, society is the opposing team on his playing field. And for this notorious writer, it's all about the rush and beating a system that he believes fails the citizens of San Francisco everyday.

"I'm going to make you swallow what I feel constitutes original art and feeling, whether you agree or not. And I'm going to do it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. That's the graffiti I do. That is bombing to me," says KRK.

His motions are smooth, his dark shadow graciously moving along with them against the clear canvas. Pressing down on the cap, the paint dripping onto his fingertips, he struggles to see the apple green fill in the darkness. He anxiously switches up his cap onto another can and as he quickly begins, the grape purple outline pops off the wall. As he stretches his arm up high to create an immense version of his signature tag, a strong gust of wind advances, carrying the scent of toxicity along with it. A flock of seagulls mysteriously fly overhead, gawking at his work as he forces the paint to drip down the wall from his extensive spraying.

"You gotta have fly tag and fresh ass throw-up. If you ain't got neither, then you didn't come up right in the opinion of probably 98.99 percent of graffiti writers. Where I come from that's all that matters," says KRK.

For writers like KRK, the threatening stereotype society associates them with is far from accurate. While his alter ego may be lawfully wrong, he is an employed college graduate who lives by the principle, "Live right, look right." While bystanders catch him in the act of bombing and speak their minds, he simply sits back and laughs. "People walk by and open their mouth, and it's funny because then they'll walk by two guys selling rock and nobody says shit. I might deface property, but they're defacing human lives," says KRK. This writer says he's driven by a system that he believes allows murders to go unsolved and ignores the distribution of narcotics within feet of law enforcement buildings.

San Francisco Police Officer Bryan Lujan says he deals with graffiti vandals on average of about one to two times per month. It is his belief based on his thirteen years of experience, that if personal property is graffitied, that person is a victim and their complaint deserves to be treated just as serious as any other call for service. "I do not know the offenders or ever judge them. I just handle the situation according to the law," says Lujan.

While graffiti is an illegal action resulting in arrest and in some cases death, the media contradicts that by using it to market and sell. Graffiti ads and merchandise have become a legal phenomenon and a fresh way of reaching consumers. Companies have been established, such as Alt Terrain, to create street advertisements that are respected and a part of the local street culture here in San Francisco. Adam Salacuse, CEO of Alt Terrain, has even been given the opportunity to redefine Mickey Mouse in order to make him "cooler." And while these pieces may serve as great eye candy, KRK says that in order to obtain such opportunities, you have to hit the streets and gain some credibility. "Understand that the real act of graffiti is illegal, and that will always be the true essence of it," he says.

Nemone, a local Bay Area graffiti vandal, loves to push his own limits and showcase his art for everyone to see. In terms of the media, he sees the dark and ugly world of graffiti as something a company wouldn't want its image to depict. However, its rebel cause is appealing, and they just see it as another way to make money. "People like to feel rebellious, but most aren't. So, what's the next best thing? A tee shirt with a graffiti logo on it. It's a joke," says Nemone.

He lurks about in the dry heap writing throw-up after throw-up, each oxide red tag with a bit of contrast. Police sirens sound in the distance, but they don't compel him to stop. The adrenaline rush flowing throughout his body has him unwilling to leave any open space resulting in a harder clean-up and more for the eye to see, whether people want to or not. His dark complexion becomes less visible in the twilight as he makes his way down the wall with vigilance. Taking a step back to admire the entirety of his work, he is impressed. He takes large strides away from the wall amid the tall weeds and picks up his black bag filled with paint cans. Leaving the scene, he takes one last look and is proud to see that the once empty wall is now consumed by what represents all he stands for--KRK.