If you ever lived in a desert as a child you know that every so often you miss it. Not for its expanse of night sky, the way the stars never surrender to the dark while you lay on the hood of your grandmother’s Impala, and not for the lizards you hunted with your sister and dropped into old coffee cans you had filled with sand and debris meant to mimic a habitat you had seen in a pet store. No, you miss the craving for shade at midday and the thirst that taught you how fine a line there was between need and desire.