The man who gave all my friends drugs and then made them pancakes at the last cabin rave shot himself at the cross of the martyrs recently. Whenever I drive down Paseo from work I think about that, and about how downtown in general is loaded with sorrow and nostalgia.
Downtown Santa Fe is also full of Pueblo Revival Architecture: racist originally and racist in replication. I have no place to talk about this racism, considering the ways in which I belong to this landscape, built or otherwise.
I walk around my hometown, where I have sweet jobs, friends and memories, thinking about how I don’t belong here and don’t want to live here.