With too much pride to quarter myself on friends, I tend to spend Thanksgivings by myself. Normally, this suits me fine. Phoenix shuts up completely, so window-shopping in Old Town Scottsdale becomes a study in perfect solitude. It might sound dull, but a certain eeriness quickens the mood. For a thrill, it's just possible to convince yourself that you're the last human survivor of the apocalypse, that zombies have occupied the Pink Pony and the Sugar Bowl and will eat your brains if you stray too close.
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