So in my neighbourhood there exists the best van that has ever been born. Sure it looks like a normal van from the front, dents, pseudo fake wood, crushed up cigarette packs and maybe that's Jesus on the cross hanging from the rearview... but then.. you walk to the past and catch a glimpse of van ass... and your very existence is called into question.
BEHOLD THE TIRE COVER
Yes, that is the same van painted as if by a semi-talented child or kind aunt and no, it is not their house. They live in a two floor duplex. Which leaves me to believe that maybe this was the house they always wanted, a rolling rambler somewhere in Surrey B.C. And yes maybe that is the sun turning into rust over top of their house. For some reason this makes me want to cry, to laugh and scream at the same time as if finding myself stuck in a snow globe in summertime. Is this the house of their dreams that they never had? Is it the dream house of the van's never to be realized?
I want to crawl inside of this little scene, worry about the rust flaking off the sun, will that affect my beautiful van? My enchanting bungalow? My stick family tucked inside? My majestic pinery? Sometimes I want to paint the owners in there, begging to escape their own alternate reality. Seriously, it's the Ray Bradbury story he never wrote.
