Arizona holds hellish memories of scornful lovers. Rock and Roll clubs, although they no longer stink of cigarette smoke (with the fascists and all), remind me of the search for a redemption that never came. Churches, too, with their shiny statues. Your architecture means nothing to me now. It is as useless as dying cacti. Time to take myself to the river, where my dreams flow freely, because they are withering under this desert sun.