Billy Sedlmayr’s “Tucson Kills” is a frighteningly lovely glimpse into boyhood and Tucson, and it brims with ache and empathy and tender regrets. There’s a heady sense of location here, to the point of mythology, dusted with area references—from the fading whores down on 6th Avenue and scoring in barrios Sobaco, Old Pasqua and Hollywood to “going crazy” in […]
