Modernism in the Sun

Back when this writer lived in Phoenix, he made the drive more often that he’d like to talk about out to Los Angeles. Often, either going or coming, he’d stop in Palm Springs for a quick bite or just to get off the freeway for a minute. And in seeing it, the thought was always “I really just don’t get it.” It’s hot, it’s empty, it’s not particularly attractive. But that’s likely because he wasn’t going to the right spots (though the diner he always stopped at was nice and makes a damn fine turkey club).