We descended on Tucson Community College, shivering in the frigid beginning of spring semester. Cars were parked on every inch of asphalt and past it, spilling onto the neatly raked dirt. Pretending to be very busy, we dodged red-eyed men in suits who tried to shove Bibles and credit card applications into our hands. We wondered where the class would be – some of us consulted crumpled printouts, or room numbers scrawled on the back of our hands, while others visited the computer center to check online. Dressed in our favorite outfits, we checked our reflections in every window. Some of us greeted old friends; some tried to make new ones. A few of us bitched that the campus was mostly made of concrete, and looked like a bunker; the rest were just glad it didn’t look like jail or McDonalds. Most of us listened to music on headphones, some walked with someone, and a few clutched campus maps like get-out-of-jail-free cards. We were all surprised to discover that our art class was being held in a lab instead of a normal classroom.
