Under the blast of a vibrant golden sky
the pueblo of Tucson hummed with hipster activity. Coffee shops, used record
stores, and neon signed eateries stood plastered with garage band fliers and
notices of local art shows...
...a three foot fag with a blond pompadour stood in the entrance of a
hair salon smiling moronically, wringing small, stubby hands. As the Olds
chugged by, he noticed me gawking and curtly mouthed, “How do?”...
Drunken Indians shuffled through Ronstadt Station waving away attacks of
phantom cowboys under the red flickering neon of Hotel Congress, hub of
homosexual hipness... homeless teens played hacky-sack outside the Mayor’s
Office as El Primo peered through closed blinds with silent, frustrated
lust...Tall cactus and angular rock formations set the back drop for Road
Runner cartoons.
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