No Choices Fire
My monitoring of the “No Choices” graffiti continues – I first photographed it on November 18. The building behind the graffiti is city-owned, part of the department of transit, and under construction. Last night, it caught fire.
I had smelled smoke for maybe 15 minutes before I happened to look out the correct window and see the fire. There were no sirens and only two small fire trucks, one of which soon left. Three firemen were perched on the fourth floor ledge, watching the thick, black smoke pour out of a doorway. One was holding some type of stick, but apart from this they appeared to have no tools with which to fight the fire.
What were they talking about up there as they hung around, impotently watching the building burn? Were they chatting about the fire, wondering if the building was going to collapse under them? Or maybe this was just same-old same-old for them, and they were taking about Futbol. It must be a depressing job to be a fireman. Everywhere you go, something is being destroyed. You must come to feel that the world really is falling apart.
After an hour it came time for me to leave. On my way out the door, I tried to interest the doorman in the blaze, but he merely shrugged and said “it’s nothing.”
I couldn’t help but think that, in New York, the street would be blocked off, sirens would be blaring, scores of firemen would be collected in a circle on the street, surrounded by ladders, hoses, and curious neighbors. But in Buenos Aires the night routine continued. A half-dozen people rooted through the pile of garbage at the foot of my building, and across a vacant lot the socialists gathered in the street with banners and drums for some sort of late-night vigil.
In the morning, the smoke-stained No Choices building still stood, the trash had been taken away, and the socialist headquarters was sealed and shuttered like a normal residence (did they get kicked out?).
I had smelled smoke for maybe 15 minutes before I happened to look out the correct window and see the fire. There were no sirens and only two small fire trucks, one of which soon left. Three firemen were perched on the fourth floor ledge, watching the thick, black smoke pour out of a doorway. One was holding some type of stick, but apart from this they appeared to have no tools with which to fight the fire.
What were they talking about up there as they hung around, impotently watching the building burn? Were they chatting about the fire, wondering if the building was going to collapse under them? Or maybe this was just same-old same-old for them, and they were taking about Futbol. It must be a depressing job to be a fireman. Everywhere you go, something is being destroyed. You must come to feel that the world really is falling apart.
After an hour it came time for me to leave. On my way out the door, I tried to interest the doorman in the blaze, but he merely shrugged and said “it’s nothing.”
I couldn’t help but think that, in New York, the street would be blocked off, sirens would be blaring, scores of firemen would be collected in a circle on the street, surrounded by ladders, hoses, and curious neighbors. But in Buenos Aires the night routine continued. A half-dozen people rooted through the pile of garbage at the foot of my building, and across a vacant lot the socialists gathered in the street with banners and drums for some sort of late-night vigil.
In the morning, the smoke-stained No Choices building still stood, the trash had been taken away, and the socialist headquarters was sealed and shuttered like a normal residence (did they get kicked out?).
previously there was Menem 'n Eminem
afterwards you have Going up in smoke?
I think that argentinians are smarter than new yorkers who make a big fus out af anything. In a way we are more oriental, more zen.sort of "just let it be" life philosophy.....es un modo de verlo no ? creer o reventar.yo prefiero creer por ahora.
s.a. [submitted on 02 Dec 02]