I’m my friend Johnoghue’s “go-to person for weird shit.”

True story. He once called me at about 12:30 a.m., knowing I’d be awake (which I of course was) to tell me that there were bubbles in the fountain he’d just passed. Sure enough, I wound up standing by the side of the fountain in the middle of the night, wearing the first two items I’d found upon crawling out of bed: a bright yellow Guster t-shirt and a pink velvet blazer.

So Johnoghue texted me this evening, having encountered something weird.

“My street is lined with candles.”

Having heard no talk of street-lining, candle-lighting or anything similar, I decided to swing home from the almost-very-last-of-the-holiday shopping, grab the camera (the ONE DAY I left it at home) and investigate.

Over the phone, we’d decided to assume it was some kind of romantic gesture. Perhaps a proposal or just a loving welcome home. “Lights will guide you home. You’ll know the route. Something like that, with light and love.”

My sentimental side still wants to believe, particularly after seeing precisely what went into each of the (many, MANY) makeshift paper lanterns. Dirt at the bottom, then the voltive, stand the bag up and move on to the next. They continued the length of the street, then diverted in either direction at the dead end.

But that’s the problem: if it was a romantic gesture, shouldn’t it lead somewhere? A particular house or building? These didn’t.

That’s when I decided that someone wanted to share art and light with the neighborhood.

And I found that notion equally romantic.

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