At dusk, the BMW collision and body repair shop is a closed white box, an acre of Beamers faint gleaming, passing traffic refracted a little in showroom plate glass. After the economic collapse in 2008, they couldn’t sell the building; under a for sale sign for years—an empty white box. Then it filled with a random assortment of vehicles, sedans, sports cars—(all rented), a bright “used cars” sign was installed near the gate—then it was a fiction. That spring and into the summer it was a set for a movie, filming a movie that turned into pure shit called “The Goods,” but at least it was part of some other story.

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