It was early in the morning around Thursday, when my family let me off-leash to go cruise the playa to see the art. I was way out in the deep playa, almost at the 12:00 apex of the trash fence, almost as far out as it is possible to be. I rode my bike up to a cabinet standing alone by itself in the desert. The sun was just over the hills to the east. There was a man and woman about 50 meters away, on a blanket watching the sunrise, but otherwise, I was alone.
The cabinet was a slightly battered-looking piece of furniture, like you would find in a bedroom at a beach rental. There were some drawers on the left, and two swinging doors, top and bottom. The drawers were screwed shut. The bottom door was secured with some heavy steel rings, locked with a bicycle lock, the kind that you dial in a combination of four letters and it releases. As I parked my bicycle and walked up to the cabinet, I could hear a woman’s voice from within, telling a story. Here is what I heard, retold as best I can remember 6 weeks later… Continue reading