“You have to get off the island sometimes.” The young man standing before me is in a faded music festival T-shirt that’s worn thin. Like everyone who lives here, Tom’s skin is tanned from days spent under the Arizona sun. He’s about 23, with a long beard and a camouflage hat shading his eyes – casual means functional here. It’s a strange metaphor to describe the place that surrounds us, because we are in the middle of the Sonoran desert – almost the middle of nowhere.