Phoenix is a street kid. He’s determined to live in the trenches to really understand the existential heaviness that most choose to deny. Consequently, he is dirty, wears ragged clothes, usually a red t-shirt, and lives in the sweat and blood of his hardcore reality. I finally managed to find him, of course sleeping in an alleyway in Phoenix, Arizona, his favorite place in the world, in broad daylight, where it’s so hot you’d think you were in Hell. His friends Tyson and The Snake Angel were with him, but they left when I came, and Phoenix told me I’d spooked them, but that he was open to some questions regardless. And just so you know: Phoenix is honest. Brutally honest.
Phoenix (P): So … what’s it like, being Phoenix?
Phoenix (p): It’s life.
P: What does that mean? Can you elucidate?
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