Berkeley Burning

Squatters, low-lives, fucking millennial generation. The whole place had gone up in flames. Hellfire paradise burned back up to the heavens. The entire warehouse was a sparking pyrotechnic nightmare. Daisy chained extension cords connected together weaving in and out of crumbling rooms. One room a mausoleum of discarded luggage piled high on both sides, the hall of abandoned travels, adventures never taken, and loved ones never left behind, bucket list ever full. The showering system was a wood pallet drainage system, a bucket of water, and a hose connected to a hand pump. The communal kitchen was glorious chaos. Camping stoves and Bunsen burners, the unification of hippies and scientists. Everyone cooking, eating, and composting together. The communal living space was filled with bits of discarded sofas and lounge chairs maintained with bits of pallets and duct tape. The main hall painted with glitter confetti, neon hands plastered along the walls, and rubber remnants stuck to the floor. The other rooms, I couldn’t go in the other rooms.

Pallet luggage

Condemn camp stoves

Generation fuck this

Daisy chain

Electrical fire

Berkeley is burning.

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