The dust forgets. We don't.
Every August the city rises from nothing, and every September it vanishes. These are the snapshots we kept.
Still unwritten
Where will we pitch our tents next? Who will be sitting on the cushions? Good question. Maybe you.
A new corner of the city
The city rose from the dust again, and so did we. Tea in the afternoon, questions deep into the night, and dosas every Tuesday and Thursday for anyone who wandered by.
Closer to the heart
The circle grew. More cushions, more kettles, more questions that ran past midnight, and more strangers who wandered in for tea and left as friends.
Lit up and rolling
By day, a kettle and a griddle; by night, the whole crew strung with lights and riding out together, asking good questions all the way across the playa.
Another year of questions
More dust, more tea, more strangers who didn't stay strangers.
Back on the playa
After two years away, the city came back, and so did we.
Where it started
Before the kettle and the griddle, there were five big letters and a question mark standing in the dust.