Beyond the fence, in the center of the large, manicured condominium garden, where people are rarely seen, is a statue. From a distance, in foreshortening, one cannot quite see what it represents: it seems a muscular male figure, perhaps a classical scene, made of bronze.
In the accomodation center, however, there are no symbolic, allegorical, or even decorative or aesthetic objects. But one can pretend that they exist: the ping pong table, with that heavy concrete structure, is like an altar; the low, wide, round swing basket, which I have always seen broken in the sand since I have been here, is like the artifact of a mythological brazier; the small wooden hut has something of a small oriental temple.
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