Thousands of water-laden immigrants arrive daily, the desert disappears and camps and art spring up. You blink - and it's become a shaded lounge complete with pool tables and hammocks. I spot what looks like a baseball card lying on a couch at my camp. It' s a homemade trading card of one of the other residents of B.R.C., with his vital stats on the back. At the end of the week, you have to believe in that wisdom.
Drugs have nothing to do with it.
Burning Man itself is a temporary altered reality. But a reality it is. Intermission between the shows of our rock 'em sock 'em doubleheader. Steve and I are moved by the heavy beat of the music blasting from our camp speakers, and jump on stage to waltz. As always, the drifters along the street clump at our corner to see the action on stage.