Developments/News

Day 3

So, first of all, the 8 ball was right, the outdoor room did not evolve. In fact, it devolved.

Somebody took Day 2's table. 

To be honest, I was pretty surprised to see it stand at all, today was garbage day. So now not only is this outdoor room delightfully bewildering, it is also sticking it to the (municipal) man.

Now, I will be going away for a while to a place without an internet connection. But fear not Treasure Hunters (ha!), I have the deputy on the case. It will be her first real foray into the art, and it will frankly make or break her status. She has been tasked with keeping an eye on the Outdoor Room, and getting a new picture (evolved or otherwise) every day it holds strong at its current position.

In my absence, I'd ask that you come by and add to this 'room'. Make it as comfy as possible.

At the bottom of the post there is a link called 'The Outdoor Room' this will show you on a map where you can find it. Don't be shy, and besides everyone has some useless Ikea crap in their house that is better suited for the street anyway.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation and zeal in this matter.

I'll be back.

Early morning,

Saturday August 20, 2011. Stumbling walking home, I see this,

Day 1

Now, this picture was obviously not taken in the middle of the night, and if it had been, it would have been right blurry.

And to be honest, this wasn't even going to make the blog, the twitter (twitter.com/streettreasure) ehh, maybe. But likely it was to be relegated to the B-sides photo blog I'm working on. Yeah, that's it.

It wasn't until this morning that I realized that this... outdoor room, deserved a little more play.

Day 2

I'll keep you posted if this thing gets anymore elaborate.

I asked my Magic 8 Ball if it will, the 8 ball said 'Not likely'.

Those things are crap anyway.

Killer rims, Bro.

Listen up Hipster!

Everyone gets over it.

Everyone stops identifying themselves as a sculptor/ezine editor/ street poet/cigarette roller.

Everyone leaves their killer downtown apartment and moves to the suburbs.

EVERYONE.

Even your beloved Robert Smith.

Treasure, done right.

Don't you hate pants?

... and boots.