I’ve never hated Tucson, my hometown. My homeboy. My home de plume. I’ll defend it to the grave, and have had to defend it many a time, sadly. To asshole boyfriends, to people who call it “the armpit of Arizona” (I’m looking at you, Phoenix! (Also, it’s called Yuma)), to telemarketers who ask where “Tusson” is, to people on Twitter even. That’s how devoted I am to the city that welcomes everyone with Valley Fever, whose rivers are dry dust 90% of the time and whose skies are so blue they burn.

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