One enters the 18th Street garage bay and — wham — there it looms, a fevered flashback to the ’60s and their acid/guru/hippie-flower-power art and sitar music. No, that’s too strong. It is like meeting up with the nephew of a long-lost, insanely eccentric foreign friend. Whatever. Art is in the view of the beholder, and it’s clear that what we have here is the American love child of a Pakistani “jingle truck.” That is to say, one eye-catching — no, eye-exploding — road beast.

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