Dear, dear Phoenix, it's not you, it's me. But please don't shoot the messenger, in the face. Who knew this southwest landmark city was capable of such a biting critique of the middle class. These works present failed, forgotten, withered, empty, hollow dreams that bear resentment from unfulfillment. Opportunities evaporating like puddles in the desert. Derailed hopes collapse throughout where there was once a guarantee of a success greater than one's parents. Unfinished, blank, waiting to be filled, the loan officer has declared your debt ratio too great to own a home. Specters inhabit illusions defined by false representations in a system that teeters on the brink of collapse. (for sales inquiries follow the links to the original craigslist ads)
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