I’ve been in love with the idea of items buried in asphalt-intentionally or non-, after I saw scissors embedded in concrete in Boston’s North End, at the entranceway to a salon. And at the Fenway neighborhood’s King of Records, with their name spelled out in marbles in the entranceway. There were a lot of cool old men hanging out there, doing “yoga” (smoking pot), playing piano, and selling records and trinkets to young college girls like myself. It was the kind of place you had to move heavy pipes to get Stephane Grappelli records.
Anyway, Mike Mission is on a…ahem, mission to document items that have been buried in asphalt in NYC.