My Cardboard Box


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Joshua Tree (a.k.a J.T – The Center of The Universe) is a dichotomy. Halfway between the prosperity-through-rampant-development town to the west and the “hell no, we won’t grow” (but we will make money off the ‘jarhead’) neighbor to the east.  It’s a self-styled artsy little village, full of  vegan restaurants, a giant concrete desert tortoise, and multiple (sometimes temporary) art galleries.  It’s home to British expats (a Scot owns, or owned, the largest garage in town), Indians merchants, Native Americans,  skinny Spanish cyclists,  artists, bikers,  the LGBTers who found themselves priced out of found Palms Springs, rock-climbers who figured out how to make a living doing what they like, National Park and other government employees,  retired Marines, current and former hippies, Hispanics legal and illegal,  nudists,  aspiring musicians, reforming ex-cons, and an ever-decreasing handful of the Original Desert Rat.  I did mention there were artists, right?

J.T is also home to two thrift shops, at least two storefront missions,  half a dozen defunct gas stations, a Chinese dentist, plenty of curmudgeons,  a few loudly self-professed libertarians,  plenty of  quiet survivalists,  meth heads,   an ever increasing collection of state and county offices and until the Mexicans cornered the market,  what had to be the largest number of meth labs per capita. The trade and the attempt to stop it still go on behind the scenes,  as the occasional trailer explosion and corpse attests. But it’s a far cry from a half-decade ago.

It’s a unique place. I like it, and I’ll be rather sorry when I have to leave it.


Written by PappyBro

October 21, 2012 at 13:29

Posted in Music, The Mojave

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