Saturday afternoon as I was working in the yard, I found a padded yellow envelope sitting on the hood of my truck, and immediately knew what it was: a letter from my friend Phil, who I first met on a rainy Sunday morning many years ago when he was locked behind the gate of the empty lot next to us and I luckily knew the padlock code. Phil, whose real name is not Phil, has lived for more than a decade in an abandoned building not far from here, at the edge of an industrial site near the river. He is a gifted maker who crafts useful objects from the things he finds, and a book lover with whom I have been carrying on an exchange for close to a decade. I made my last drop to him on last year’s freakishly hot Christmas Day,
Squatters of the Metaverse (with butterflies)
Squatters of the Metaverse (with butterflies)
Squatters of the Metaverse (with butterflies)
Saturday afternoon as I was working in the yard, I found a padded yellow envelope sitting on the hood of my truck, and immediately knew what it was: a letter from my friend Phil, who I first met on a rainy Sunday morning many years ago when he was locked behind the gate of the empty lot next to us and I luckily knew the padlock code. Phil, whose real name is not Phil, has lived for more than a decade in an abandoned building not far from here, at the edge of an industrial site near the river. He is a gifted maker who crafts useful objects from the things he finds, and a book lover with whom I have been carrying on an exchange for close to a decade. I made my last drop to him on last year’s freakishly hot Christmas Day,