As I walked the streets of Cusco and Puno the walls were verdant, shouting out the stain of third world. I witnessed the brash, the faded, the layers and inklings of all unwilling to be denied, screams for recognition. I took notice of this layered epistle, the unseen light amongst the dirty shadows. This is a codex of time, past and present, tattered and torn. The melding moments born from sun and rain, all evidence, the trace resignations that life can bring. I see cautionary tales of promotion and poverty, politics and people, grit and grime the life cycles, palimpsests posted on the walls of urban Peru.