There is an entirely unique genre of human walking among us: Demolition Derby people.

You cannot understand them, or truly see them, outside of the context in which they compete with each other, and practice their craft. And they truly are craftsman. They are artists, in their own way: Painting and modifying junk cars into fierce, well defended implements of destruction.

In helmets, and armor they parade their war-horse vehicles into the arena. Then commence bashing their cars into each others until only one remains running. There is smoke, dirt, roaring engines and crashes so loud people in the bleachers wear earplugs. Sometimes there are fires. This is a type of uniquely American performance art happening at county fairs across the country, that is easy to dismiss. But there is a story here.

The hands; calloused and oil-stained; that transform family sedans into war machines during evenings after work shifts. The multi-generational families, organized around this pursuit. The relationships between the competitors. The unique culture. The drivers and their cars.

Here is America's complicated relationship with automobiles distilled to its essence: creation through destruction, community through competition, value found in what others discard.