The sun was setting and I climbed to the top of a big rock out in the middle of nowhere Tempe, just north of Salt River. The wind roared over me flapping the collar of my shirt and I stood there on my rock singing opera into it. Planes, always the planes coming and going in Phoenix, flew overhead. To the east a strip club emitted its neon blue purple glow amidst orange rooftops. As I stood the sky in the east slowly turned electric blue purple to match, and off to the north thunderbolts from god tortured a distant hill.
Posted by Alan at July 27, 2003 02:42 AM