Driving from Flagstaff to Phoenix with my friend Clayton. On the road. From the snow-capped mountains to the burning valley. In Flag, it’s snowing. In Phoenix, the sun is out, the Suns are out of contention, and nobody’s content but the cats and crazies. It’s a normal Phoenix day in December. We drive around. We go uptown; we turn around and go back downtown. Then we turn around again. We don’t know where we’re going. We park the car at a park to play basketball. After a few minutes, a man who had been watching comes up to Clayton, who is 6 foot 7. “You are tall, man!” the guy informs him. “I mean, when you started playing, I was just sitting there watching, thinking ‘that guy is fucking tall!’ You probably get this a lot, but do have some sort of a disease, like a growth disorder? Or are you healthy?” “I don’t have a disease,” Clayton answers.

Strange day in Phoenix
Spring or summer or winter?
A state of extremes