Imagine every alley a pawn, every rooftop a queen, the whole city a cramped board. I drop a neon riot on a blank wall like a surprise check—boom, a new line of attack. Colors don’t just paint; they blur the rules. A splash of magenta on a gray lot forces people to look twice, changes the flow, makes the cops pause, lets the graffiti king win. It’s like flipping the chessboard mid‑game, making the “check” a dance. That's how I play.