There’s a moment on an Arizona highway when hunger turns sharp and specific, somewhere between the last small town and the next stretch of empty road.
Heat ripples off the asphalt, saguaros pull the light into long shadows, and the idea of a burger stops feeling casual and starts feeling earned.
I’ve followed that feeling into drive-ins where neon hums at dusk and grill smoke drifts low across gravel parking lots like a signal. Locals don’t give speeches about these places…