The second holy surface is a plain looking wall in a parking garage. The main thing about the second wall is the three security cameras pointed at it. Moto shows his solidarity by tagging with Triangle Phil. He writes: “help preserve our historic downtown”. Triangle Phil unleashes another perfect right triangle. Then three cop cars roll up. The deputies step out and start making come here gestures with their hands. The gang splits. Moto runs with Phil. “I get spatially confused in parking garages,” Moto admits. “Follow me,” Phil ducks into a stairwell and they descend. They hear the heavy shoes of the law just above them.

Triangle Phil is out of shape, he gasps for air in a cement gorge. Moto tries to lose the paint in a bush but it bounces off. The cops come around the corner. They are yelling synonyms for stop. Triangle Phil’s lungs burn but Moto isn’t slowing down. And Triangle Phil knows that to pause is to answer for his crimes in a court of law. So he runs. They swing over a ledge into another parking lot and run across it. They know the topography of Vowel City, they’ve been here their whole lives, doodling on its walls and puking on its sidewalks. Unfortunately, the police have evolved parallel to them. They pursue. They close the gap.

Phil and Moto duck into the park. Moto hides in a yellow tube slide. Triangle Phil squats behind a waning sense of teenage invulnerability or a trashcan and the cops pass them by. Triangle Phil sucks desperate breaths.

They lay on their back in wet grass and smoke cigarettes, looking up at the moon, and Triangle Phil thinks he sees, not Kobe, but Jessica up there, holding the moon out to him like a Supersonic double cheeseburger. Moto says:

“We’ve all felt a little heartbreak. I once loved a diabetic lesbian. I once loved an equestrian. I once loved a temptress, man. I once loved a girl with a fake tan. I once loved a codependent Unitarian. She was Australian—”

Moto goes on and on. He’s trying to help but Triangle Phil knows his words are nothing but lies and slant rhymes. He runs his hand counterclockwise against the sod. Moto says: “You still thinking about her? No sweat. There’s just one more holy surface dude. You’ll put a few hypotenuses on it and that will be the end of that.”