9
I returned to central Phoenix and cruised into the Hub’s parking lot, near Roosevelt Street and Grand Avenue. The large, glass-sided building dated back to the 1940s when it served as a car dealership. It resembled an inverted boat hull with a broad metal beam that jutted from the roof, piercing the sky like a ram bow.
The Hub’s interior was raw and industrial. Steel beams rose like spires from the concrete slab floor to the cavernous ceiling. Krewella’s song “Alive” thrummed from speakers in the back, the volume turned up just enough to make it recognizable.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I navigated through the maze of folding tables where entrepreneurs—from tech startups to accountants to Realtors—had created a home base for their businesses.
“Hey.” I sat in my chair a
