One of the big draws on the open playa this year was Dicky, who lived in this glass-walled box all week. He had a bed and a desk and a little curtain he could hide behind when it was time to crap in a chemical john. A generator provided some power to cool (or perhaps “circulate” is a better word?) the air in Dicky’s box. Dicky himself would speak to visitors through some holes in one of the walls. In the conversations I overheard, Dicky was detached and uninteresting, and I was pretty much done with him after my first visit.