Day 12—Pots and Pans

Nicky lived in a house that played rhythms. You’d think it was something custom-constructed by the ludicrously, bizarrely rich. But Nicky wasn’t. He usually made it to Burning Man every year…on the low-income ticket. Most people were surprised that his house was actually so big. The lot had been owned by his friend who was a restaurateur. Nicky did serve Korean fusion out of a stall on the side of the house. The inspectors didn’t know that anyone lived there, but sometimes during the day, he would start playing the pots and pans with drumsticks. Sometimes the sticks on each other.

Occasionally a hipster would join him with a banjo and murder ballad lyrics. Another day two guys would show up with pails and bigger Home Depot buckets. The police didn’t bother him for about two years. Then one day A-town crew was rapping and beatboxing over him playing and the law showed up.

“You have to have a permit to live in this area. It’s not zoned for residences.”

“You’re required by the city to give me notice of inspection.”

At first it was just a $50.00 citation and they didn’t return. Then he would get notices every 6 months, but at that point he’d figured out a way to hide his bed, his couch, the entire lounge area. He’d figured out how to hide it because his magician friend Bourgeois Barry had figured out how to glamour his dwelling-area into simply looking like restaurant storage.

“This is the best and worst idea you’ve ever had,” said Barry.

“It works, so I’m not complaining.”


Sometimes, on a Sunday night, if the weather was dry and you listened very carefully, he would keep a beat on one of the pots while playing a beautiful trumpet melody.

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