Frank Sinatra is the last person I’d expect to find in a modest grave on the outskirts of Palm Springs.
But there he is in a field of other flat, inconspicuous grave markers in a cemetery blocks away from the interstate. The pilgrim tokens left there were remarkably understated: a golf ball and the cap from a beer (?) bottle that reads “High Life.” The setting really takes the bounce out of his epitaph, “The best is yet to come.”
Good tacos at El Taco Asado on the corner of El Cielo and Ramon Roads.
108 degrees in Phoenix. Tomorrow, the chile capital of the United States, Hatch, NM.