At noon, they erected the obelisk in their backyard. Ten feet high, of hobbled together palette planks. They spent the rest of the afternoon watching the shadow it cast grow and sweep across the lawn.
By the next morning the city had come to remove it. “Against code,” they said, although when pressed, they could not name which statute it violated, only that it was in violation of something. It was torn down, the city workers felling it with chainsaws.
At midnight, they light the bonfire, the remnants of the monolith burned. Flames reaching higher than the construction ever could.