One doesn't pay to enter a state park, hike along a rocky lake shore, and just happen to have spray paint.
"Golly, how'd this Krylon get in my pocket? I thought it was a can of beer. Well, guess I gotta use it."
But maybe I just don't understand. Perhaps the modern redneck skate punk shaman prayerfully enters a trance (aided by pharmaceuticals rather than peyote), travels deep into the spirit world to find his hair band totem, and leaves his sacred markings to instruct and bring good fortune to his tribe members. I'm sure that's it.