This is a city of ghosts. Like an ancient necropolis unearthed from beneath the desert, Phoenix is a place of the dead. You see them caught in mid-scream in front of the bronze dome of the State Capitol, wandering eyeless across the dirt mounds of Pueblo Grande on Washington Street surrounded by strip clubs and Circle K, burned from exposure and starving on the sidewalks of the flop hotels promising fresh linens and a color TV, and recently, congregating amid the tree-high heaps of slag once known as the... More >>>