Phoenix Is Impossible, but Its Cacti Are Platonic

The sun went down at 5:48pm, the high was 83 degrees, and the moon is nearly full. This morning C. and I drove through Sedona, drawn by the cadence of its name but repelled by the hucksters and faith-dealers: establishments with names like Gratitude Latitude, New Energy Café, and Sacred Elements Energy Balancing Center. We did not stop. Instead we visited the Chapel of the Holy Cross, a peak-modernist Catholic chapel inspired by the geometry of the Empire State Building that juts out of a red butte. I’m writing this while chomping nicotine gum with caffeine nerves, so maybe my energy could use some realignment.

Phoenix is impossible, but its cacti are Platonic. After scrolling through its grids for hours without feeling like the scenery had changed, we checked into a Ballardian hotel along the interstate. The bathroom mirror is Bluetooth-enabled for reasons I cannot comprehend.