My favorite albums this year sounded messier than in years past: scuffed and bruised yet defiant—which sounds like the future.
The unique scent of desert rain has a scientific name, petrichor, derived from the Greek words for stone and the blood of the gods.
Unlike the blank winter grays of the Midwest and East Coast, the clouds over Vegas are well-defined, painterly, and startlingly low.
Las Vegas feels like the future, but I’m also living in the past.
It’s the longest night of the year, and I went for my first Las Vegan run.
Billboards across the panhandle told me to find nirvana, win a free furnace, and invest in crypto.
