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a taste of home
May. 14th, 2008 11:08 pmNights like this remind me of being a girl in Phoenix. 90 degrees and a big moon in the sky. I would grab the car, load up some friends, and head to the Pavilions. Now houses stretch to the Pavilions and beyond. Back then, you had to drive into the dark of the desert before getting there. The Pavilions was a large complex with a huge movie theater and a Mc Donalds styled as a 50's diner. They held clasic car shows in the parking lot regularly, every saturday, sometimes more often.
We would meet up with other people and their vehicles full of people. Mostly, from there, we would head out to Crystal river, drink Boon's, and participate in general stupidity such as truckbed surfing.
Or I would grab my friend Chris Holt, and we would head out to Tempe to drink coffee in the wake of the misting fountain.
When I was 18 I had my own bungalow (now a studio apt). The neighborhood I lived in was made of housing all built before 1930. Mine was a 1920 bungalow. My friend Frank lived in one of the oldest apt buildings in the country still standing. Who knows why anyone would build housing in Phoenix, a city with no natural rivers or lakes, before 1900. My friend Erica Davie and I would drink gin and run around the civic center area and ride the glass elevator up and down. Occasionally, we would do this mostly naked. It was warm enough, and downtown Phoenix was deserted. It was our playground. The cool desert breeze would blow through, but the cities asphalt would continue to radiate the heat of the day.
I love hot summer nights.
We would meet up with other people and their vehicles full of people. Mostly, from there, we would head out to Crystal river, drink Boon's, and participate in general stupidity such as truckbed surfing.
Or I would grab my friend Chris Holt, and we would head out to Tempe to drink coffee in the wake of the misting fountain.
When I was 18 I had my own bungalow (now a studio apt). The neighborhood I lived in was made of housing all built before 1930. Mine was a 1920 bungalow. My friend Frank lived in one of the oldest apt buildings in the country still standing. Who knows why anyone would build housing in Phoenix, a city with no natural rivers or lakes, before 1900. My friend Erica Davie and I would drink gin and run around the civic center area and ride the glass elevator up and down. Occasionally, we would do this mostly naked. It was warm enough, and downtown Phoenix was deserted. It was our playground. The cool desert breeze would blow through, but the cities asphalt would continue to radiate the heat of the day.
I love hot summer nights.
