I felt like I had walked into a scene out of Mad Max. Inside a fenced-in lot sat a broken-down beige Nissan hatchback. The ground was covered with a blanket of gravel that kicked up with every step. Shipping containers surrounded me on all sides and a row of retired buses formed a fortress of derelict industry. I looked up. On top of every bus was a torrent of activity, with people toiling away with hammers and saws and welding torches and power grinders.
After just staring for a bit, I walked over to one of the buses and thumped my fist against it. The rain of sparks pouring from above me stopped, and a shirtless man wearing a welding mask and bandoleer across his chest peered over the edge of the bus. I shouted, "Hey, this is NIMBY, right?"
The man popped up his mask and a white smile peered out just above his soot-covered neck. He shouted back: "Hell yeah, this is NIMBY!"
This is the maker and art collective scene in Oakland.
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