Motivelessness :: Violence Personal Narrative Papers

Motivelessness The city of Tucson is quite literally surrounded on all sides by exquisitely rugged natural beauty. To the brotherhood lie the Santa Catalina mountains, home of Mt. Lemmon and the southernmost ski resort in the continental US. To the east ar 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. Some community like the utter suburbanness of the place, or the weather but, if you ask Tucsonians why they decided to relocate in Tucson of all places from New York or LA or Mexico City, theyll speciate you that they love the Tucson sunsets. The quality of Tucson that the sunset epitomizes, attracts hippies and cowboys and big city folk alike to my home town. The sun rises over Salsa Verde to the Rincons and ever so slowly eases charge like prickly pear jelly among the Tucs on mountains in the late afternoon. If you make the hike up to Gates Pass, theres nothing but sunset and desert for a trillion miles to Hollywood.Either I was talking about the sunset, or it was sunset, because I definitely remember the sun, when I was walking and talking with my hippie friend Adam outdoor(a) Agua Caliente park three years ago. I also remember that I was wearing baggy green corduroy pants and a ominous t-shirt 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 plough critically important after the six teenagers who attacked 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 naughtily choreographed TV rumble than the military precision one finds in big city violent crime. Adam was slightly worse off than I was, in all probability because his at tacker was the older and more emotionally unbalanced leader of the group, Raymond 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 signing of a pen, thanks to the provisions of the genus Arizona Victims of Violent Crime Act.