phoenix isn’t the desert hell you’ve heard—it’s just a weirdly chill dumpster fire

phoenix isn’t the desert hell you’ve heard-it’s just a weirdly chill dumpster fire. i stayed at the map hotel because my flight dropped me off at 2 am and i couldn’t afford a bed for another hour.

saw a skunk crossing galvin peak at 3:47am. it was either going to die on the road or outsmart 10,000 years of evolution. it won.

phoenix is weirdly spiritual for a place with 16 car washes and one public library that smells like regret. i wandered through heritage square and asked a guy handing out jaywalking tickets if the ghost stories were true. he said, “yeah, the madam’s still mad about the 1800s real estate crash.”

if you get bored, tucson’s just a short drive away. or you could visit the hearse museum downtown and pretend you’re not a tourist.

weather-wise? checked my app and it’s 5 degrees. there right now. hope you like that kind of thing.

for eats, try the 24-hour flutter taco spot. it’s greasy, existential, and the salsa tastes like it’s been in a fight.

pro tip: the airport has hidden blues spots. someone told me that. don’t check the gates. just follow the mariachi music.











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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