Tucson, Arizona

In Tucson, Arizona, the buildings are tall and glassy, the streets are wide, impeccably maintained and virtually free of pedestrians. There’s nobody on foot because everyone drives enormous, heavily tinted trucks. The people without cars are subject to the merciless atmosphere; dry and hot like mustard powder with a desert wind that chases away all traces of moisture and sanity. Thus, anyone on foot is, as Angie in her psychology-speak says, ‘loopy’. The most prominent symptoms of this desert-affliction are the tendency to argue with invisible adversaries and a fondness for green, over-the-face visors.

The people fortunate enough to be in cars just looked at us through their dark glass with a confused/wary look on their faces that said either ‘ewww, carless’ or ‘what happened to their car?’