The small structure sat low with its utilitarian right angles, chambers and ramps made of cast concrete half buried in the earth. Looking through the curved outer glass, our view passed through a small wooden windowed door at the back of the booth. This allowed us a view down into the dark subterranean center of the garage. In this cryptic space, there was a small fire burning. No one was around and there wasn’t any evidence or objects to show what was fueling this fire. It was just fire - pure flame on the bare concrete. It was like it was just orange flames coming directly out of the floor. Positioned like a crude altar, it was perfectly centered as if placed by an invisible energetic plumb line demarking the precise axis of the space. The fire added a strange bright scrap of color, light and movement to the dim grey and black monochrome that surrounded us. We looked on in disbelief and some concern, debating if we should let anyone know about this. We didn’t want to overreact to what might be pure hallucination. Just then a man wearing camouflage walked by and we asked him if we should tell anyone about the fire. Without stopping he looked at us and pressed his index finger to his lips, the sign for silence. There can be secrets hidden within the banality of form.
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