I have tried to write a review of my experience with Stuck Outside of Phoenix. I've written it many times. Sometimes on paper. Sometimes on this laptop; retyping, cutting, retyping, copying, pasting; failing...until today. The story seems typical enough. This guy they call, Hote, is wandering into adulthood and he wants to be a rock star. He's handy enough with a bass. He's had some experience being in a band—with so-called friends, mostly. His intuition tells him Seattle is the place to take his talent. And just when he's ready to hit the road, he gets lost. And I got lost, for almost two months, in search of what Art's story did to me. Then today, I found that I have been reviewing it all of the time. I am still there, stuck with Hote, in a constant part of my unconsciousness. Still there, on the couch, in his friend's apartment. Still sitting on the bar stool, pondering his thoughts. Still watching him with the woman he could love. Still pressed against the stage, looking up and seeing a rare and unexpected glow coming off of Hote's face and his bass guitar. This is one of those stories I love to find. The kind that stays with you, lingers in your thoughts, gets down into your soul, and expands your empathies. Art wrote a measure of depth and struggle that brought me close enough to the character that I was there, helping him carry his struggle, and at the same time, held to a distance from Hote. This was the same close and distant thread I found all through the story and stretched between Hote and everyone he knew. It was the song that began playing in my head, when I read the first pages, and continued to play during every reading, and to the last page. The song is Entre Nous by Rush. It tells of our vast separation from each other, but those '...spaces in between leave room for you and I to grow.'