Motivelessness :: Violence Personal Narrative Papers

Motivelessness The city of Tucson is quite literally surrounded on all sides by exquisitely rugged natural beauty. To the north guile the Santa Catalina mountains, home of Mt. Lemmon and the southernmost ski resort in the continental US. To the eastmost are the Rincons, after which many local Tucson businesses are named. To the west are the Tucson mountains, from which one can on a clear day (clear days abound) see California. To the south are the Santa Ritas and eventually the mysterious Mexican Madres. what ever people like the utter suburbanness of the place, or the weather except, if you ask Tucsonians why they decided to relocate in Tucson of all places from New York or LA or Mexico City, theyll tell you that they love the Tucson sunsets. The quality of Tucson that the sunset epitomizes, attracts hippies and cowboys and queen-size city folk alike to my home town. The sun rises over Salsa Verde to the Rincons and ever so slowly eases down like prickly pear gelatin am ong the Tucson mountains in the late afternoon. If you make the hike up to Gates Pass, theres nothing but sunset and desert for a million miles to Hollywood.Either I was talk about the sunset, or it was sunset, because I definitely remember the sun, when I was paseo and talking with my hippie friend Adam outside Agua Caliente ballpark three years ago. I also remember that I was vesture baggy green corduroy pants and a black island of Jersey with the picture of a South American tree frog perched on it (we were nature-lovers), and that Adam wore a sandlewood beaded necklace. The clothes we were wearing would later expire critically important after the six teenagers who fervoured us claimed to the police that the attack had been gang-related and retaliatory.I wasnt hurt at all. Frankly, my assault had more the character of a badly choreographed TV rumble than the military precision one finds in big city violent crime. Adam was slightly worse polish off than I was, probably beca use his attacker was the older and more emotionally disquieted leader of the group, scapemond G. Harder, who was armed with what later turned out to be a metal pipe stuck in a wooden door handle. Ultimately, Ray was the only one of the group that Adam and I would send to juvie with the write of a pen, thanks to the provisions of the Arizona Victims of Violent Crime Act.