I’m laughing at myself as I drive towards the center of Tombstone from Boothill Cemetery. It’s taken me all of two minutes to make the trip, yet, for some reason, I still had to ask my phone for directions before driving. Yes, in case you were wondering, there are plenty of signs between these two points of interest that make such an act…very unnecessary.
I’m standing outside Boothill Cemetery studying its surrounding walls, trying to match what I see with a memory from my childhood. I’ve just traveled along a dusty desert road. The toxic, nostril burning smell of a skunk (who has met an unfortunate end sometime earlier in the morning, I’m sure), leaks through my car’s air conditioning vents for most of my journey from Tucson to Tombstone–a distance of a little over seventy… Read More
Sitting in the backseat of a Prius I quietly watch the landscape transition from a prickly cactus carpet to groupings of regal palm trees and let the white-noise hum of traveling down a lonely highway lull me into thoughts of remembrance.