sun-damaged skin and bad decisions: a freelance photographer's tucson diary

i got here at noon. smelled like old socks and diesel. the thermostat reads 19.82 degrees celsius there right now-if you’re into that kinda precision. not too hot, not too cold, just a humid stubborn blanket hanging around. i set up my tripod in the shade of a cracked billboard advertising a timeshare called ‘oasis estates.’ bad choice. the wifi here moves slower than a grandpa on sedatives. tried to upload photos to a client via ‘deadspace.io’ and my phone just wept.

walked into a taco stand that smells like regret. owner says, ‘you’re the guy with the fancy camera.’ i say, ‘i take photos.’ he says, ‘good. you fix my roof.’ tried negotiating but ended up paying for a second carne asada to keep him happy. his advice: don’t trust the spicy verde sauce. ‘itsa viral. kills you in 3 days.’ now my gut’s mutinying.

photographed a guy who swears he’s just doing kinect dance cover versions of opera. he’s out here in a sequined vest, hitting air with his hands like he’s conducting a mariachi band. local legend says he’s a sous chef who stole a dj mixer from a border bar. sketchy wisdom, maybe. swore at my phone battery again-now at 17%. tried clicking images of the saguaro cacti but they kept bending toward me like they’re trying to escape.

overheard gossip at a gas station: ‘that mural downtown’s cursed. passed three times last weekend. every time i snapped a pic, my cat died back home.’ i walked downtown anyway. turned out the carousel there has feeling specs. toddlers there ride it like it’s a trampoline. local yelp review said, ‘if you get bored, lafayette’s just a short drive away.’ no it isn’t. coughed up 300 pesos for a guided tour of the ‘vibrant’ street art that just looks like someone threw soda at a window.

ended the day getting lost in a junkyard. found a synth sitting in a field with other dead tech. maybe that’s the universe whispering, ‘you missed your cue.’ saw a vulture eating a used iPhone. ironic. tomorrow’s plan: steal a golf cart and photobomb the desert’s last honest moment. one condition: someone tapes a warning to the dashboard next time.