On the day that the artists revolted I sat on the front porch to witness the craziness. Decades of being ostracized finally got to them and they had to fight back. Only, they didn’t know what to do. Picket? Wreck things? Run for city council? None of those seemed appropriate, fun or the least bit creative.
They held a meeting to decide what to do. It was chaos till a string artist with OCD took control. She had a plan. They gathered downtown and painted murals on everything. Then the tourists came. The sleepy little town was never the same.