Jerome Arizona is Sausalito without the Bay, Santorini without the money, Bisbee without the pit...only a bit more falling down and architecturally poorer. Like Bisbee, Jerome has a birthright of shiny Copper, and a epitaph of rusted Volkswagens. But there is no funeral to weep over, for in the end, rust is the new gold...a magnet for money.
It doesn't hurt that Jerome is part of the Turquoise Triangle Scenic Drive. The T. T. gives Phoenician Seniors with Beamers and Benzes an alternative to golf. BMW and Mercedes aren't the only companies getting rich off the Viagra Generation, either; Harley Davidson is putting a dent in the Toys For Men In Second Childhoods department. At minimum, a barebones Harley pushes 20 G's; deck it out with chrome, bags and a bandana for your receding forehead, and you've dropped another 10. And that's before Momma get's wrapped head to toe like a black bean burrito in embroidered leathers and boots. Harley Davidson's, lined up like dominos, always in front of a saloon...where even the barmaid could kick the crap out of their lily white assed Easy Riders.
No matter how Sugar Momma rides into Funky Town, she's there to shop. More gaudy chains and chokers to adorn sagging necklines; more rings for pudgy digits; more jewel-tipped studs for multi-pierced ears. Sugar Daddy just wants to sit in the shade and lock lips with a double dip Pralines and Cream waffle cone...pretend it's one of those bodacious tattooed beauts passing him by like he was invisible. His fantasy costs five bucks; hers, five hundred. Just another day in "Retirement Lifestyles of Rich N. Famous." Everybody's happy...especially the venders.