April 12, 2007

We walk at night to the park, a warmth to the cooling air; I've got Ben Folds Five in my ears and Obie pulls me gently to every tree, flower, and telephone pole. Hosford Middle School hosts evening playtime for local pups, a giant grassy hilled field and dogs aplenty, romping and chasing and fetching and sniffing. It's 10pm, however, too late for social time. We have the park to ourselves, the darkened green of the grass only partially illuminated by the city lights to the west.

I have been to this park a hundred times, but never this late. The school is large, brick, dimly lit by yellow sodiums. Obie wanders off into the dark, off-leash, while I walk up to a pair of windowed blue doors and peer within. Inside is a cavernous dungeon, two enormous furnaces lumbering away, metal stairways, concrete and rust. On the furnaces there is writing rising up from the rounded metal surface. Birchfield Boiler Company, October 18, 1921.

Two behemoths, quietly toiling in a secret cavern that only comes out at night.

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