Men are like fine wine. They all start out like grapes, and it’s our job to stomp on them in the dark until they mature into something you’d like to have dinner with. –Anonymous Mistress Cathryn Curtis emerges as the archetypal dominatrix: zaftig, milky-hued, clad in an all-black ensemble of…

The incessant monologue of hushed Spanish is the soundtrack to the hypnotic streams of Circle K reds and Burger King yellows that fan passengers crimped on cushioned alloy seats. Above, under phosphorescent light, multilingual signs assert “No Fire Arms” and “Out of Work? Need a Job? Call . . .”…

Spry raving echoes between smoked glass high-rises, liberating the cool night air of its usual calm. In it, a bullhorn assuredly shrieks, “They’re bombing hospitals! They’re bombing schools!” and, “Stop Clinton now!” All this is heard atop a trilling of whistles, yelps and cheers. The hubbub–a clear anomaly for a…

The old cavalry signal of the charge. Shrill yelping and howls like canine genocide settle from behind the eight numbered gates, a blood-curdling sound that could haunt the uninitiated for hours. A mechanical lure–a diabolical, spurious rabbit–starts its loop around the oval track, sparks flying off the rail on which…

Tonight, Interstate 17’s passenger destinations emerge as scattered and random as the star-crammed sky. At any moment, car license plates lit by tiny bulbs reveal such far off lands as Washington, British Columbia and Mexico. Melancholy drivers trying to escape the only life they are ever going to have sit…

On Greenway near 19th Avenue, just north of the Chino Bandido’s Takee Outee Chinese and Mexican Food and across the street from Turf Mobile Manor trailer court, the Cadillac Cowboy Club free stands in a fading strip-mall lot. It is the sort of shopping center that serves as a traditional…

Open since 1953, Durant’s restaurant and lounge on Central evokes a Phoenix that exists today only in the memory. A Phoenix where a freeway out of town was but a dream. Where a crosstown drive at midnight would reveal nary a set of oncoming headlights, and a DUI was as…

Brutal, low-road, Vegasy entertainment plays off the faces of blue-collar, heavy-jowled types who suck light beers and siphon cigars while their eyes trace figures of nubile dancers and waitresses. It would seem the perfect night out, eh? Well . . . As strains of “The Theme From Rocky” die down,…

It’s 2 a.m. on Tuesday, and the Saguaro Mobile Home Park across from Tiffany’s Cabaret on 32nd Street is as likely a venue as any for Whitey the repo man. Tonight Whitey is looking to nab a blue Pontiac Grand Am, a car whose owner is weeks behind on payments…

Nobody shows you America up close like Greyhound. –company slogan Glory flashes a yellow, gap-toothed grin and says, “What you need, brother, I got. I got it all.” Glory’s gums are swollen and purple from disregard. He has with him a mangled suitcase that looks as if it contains his…

“I’m workin’ tonight,” says the lanky, 30ish man who looks like he hasn’t slept for 60 hours. We are waiting outside the men’s room at Cruisin’ Central, waiting because the door is held shut from the inside, and both of us have to piss. “I can always get some cash…

‘Twas I, row 12, seat 12, surrounded by 12-, 4- and 14-year-olds, their overanimated parents, and the occasional beery-eyed guerrilla who–while handling some comparatively waifish girlfriend–took to crowing things like “Stone Cold sucks, so sit your candy asses down,” and “Blow me, Bad-Ass Billy Gunn.” Banners and signs posting quick…

At 11:20 a fairly well-dressed booze-hound came staggering out of a bootleg-whiskey joint on Fourth Street. It was a Friday night in mid-July and the humid heat was like a wave of steaming black syrup confronting the boozehound. He walked into it and bounced off and braced himself to make…

As any idiot knows, the Native Americans were swindled when settlers continuously encroached upon their land, disregarding the fact that the Indians were there first. After years of fighting, killing and displacing the Indians, the government allotted reservations for the Indians to call their own. Gee, how altruistic. Of course,…

The ancient art of palmistry has origins in India and was later popularized in Europe by Marie Anne Norman, a fortuneteller in Napoleon’s court. The idea behind palmistry is that the lines in the hand are more reflective of neurology than the actual mechanics of closing the hand. If you…

“Woo-hoo, the Cards are in the playoffs, Jack,” yelped the red-nosed gent whose thick, round head sported a white hardhat with a snake glued to its top. He wore an Arizona Cardinals jersey with the number 16 pulled tightly over a belly that looked like it was stuffed with a…

Ben Wallis manned the wheel of the old Camero, a car in need of repair but still a loud, monstrous, muscular machine that can go at a great clip if need be. We rounded the corner onto Adams Street, and Wallis gave her some gas, offering a glimpse of what…

Friday night downtown, between the decades-old warehouses and America West Arena, where old trolley tracks remain visible under streets paved over years ago, the dust and car exhaust blended with pithy scents of perfume and floated on a warm December breeze. Like carnival barkers, the lanky parking-space hawkers with chutzpah…