A blazing sun in a cloudless blue sky radiated an intense bath of photons down on me as I left the La Quinta Inn in Scottsdale this morning.
Wearing the five-dollar shades I bought in Fred Meyer in Portland, and with my small office backpack slung over my shoulder, I strolled down the spotless sidewalk along the four-lane divided boulevard. Cars whizzed by in either direction.
As I learned long ago in Texas, in a sunny car-oriented place like this, dark sunglasses are de rigeur, not only for sun protection, but to cultivate a feeling a anonymity as a pedestrian walking beside busy traffic. Without them, one's eyes and gaze are exposed to passing motorists in a way that feels as if one is on display. With sunglasses, one blends in, almost as if one is an automobile.
With Red off clothes shopping with her friend, the bride-to-be, I was on
my own for the rest of the day. No Starbucks were nearby, at least none
that weren't inside grocery stores. For work today, I settled for the
Barnes and Noble cafe in the shopping center across the boulevard from
the hotel.
I grabbed something eat at a beautiful recent-vintage convenience store, then waited at the stoplight to cross the wide boulevard. On the other side I picked my way through the crowded parking lot towards the bookstore, past rows of luxury cars. The clean asphalt gathered up in the suns rays and absorbed in a giant heat reservoir below my feet.
All of this, and it was not even eighty degrees. Next week it's supposed to be ninety-five. Thankfully the cheap shades I bought in Portland are as dark as they get.
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