A client of mine has recently purchased a tear down on a poetic waterfront parcel of land. In a circuitous route to raze the structure, they have enlisted the help from the local fire department to assuage the wrecking ball process. With a Talking Heads slant and tax kickback in hand, the brigade has volunteered to preform routine combustion drills on the house. Reminiscent of stubble burning, a process farmers ritualize to enrich their future crops; this approach seemed almost baptismal of future good fortune. As a family, they watched the landscape of future domestic bliss being set a flame with fertile smiles, an inferno of anointed architectural promise.
