Everyone who had ever lost anything in the neighborhood or passing through it would call. Like trying to find the owner of dropped casino chips or cash, the sign–meant to be a secret message for exactly three people–at first invoked the basest regimes of desired in all who stopped to figure it out  

Then, on the day this photo was taken, no one came out. I sat in my car. I climbed around. No one was left.

In some foreign cultures people pay their spiritual taxes or cop to their resentments or commemorate a day by driving nails into a fetish. Gets to be more surface is occupied by nails than by fetish. Gets to be you can’t sometimes discern which or what kind of idol it was before people laid hands upon it and walked away.

-from the dedication to Atom DeLancey of Counter-Memory and Recreation by Increase Heartgather