messy strokes in panama city: a street artist's scraped knees and spray cans

i woke up with the sun leaking through the cracked window of my hostel, the air already thick with that sticky humidity you can almost taste. i grabbed my sketchbook, a half‑empty can of matte black, and headed toward the old railway tracks where the walls whisper stories in layers of paint.

i heard that the big piece near the fish market was done by a visiting crew from Bogotá and they left a hidden signature only visible when the tide rolls in

the weather today feels like twenty-four degrees with a dampness that makes the walls sweat, perfect for letting the spray bleed just a little longer before it dries. i just checked my phone and it says the humidity is pushing ninety percent, hope you enjoy that kind of clingy atmosphere.

i paused by a little café where the barista shouted something about the new vegan empanadas being "life‑changing" - i took that as a sign to keep moving.

someone told me that if you wander three blocks east you’ll find a abandoned lot where the locals throw impromptu drum circles every friday night, and the cops usually look the other way

i kept walking, letting the rhythm of the city guide my hand, leaving behind a quick tag that reads "wanderlust" in a shaky font that i’ll probably regret tomorrow.

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if the streets start feeling too quiet, a quick hop to the neighboring towns of porto bello and san miguel will give you a change of scenery.

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