Anza is an unincorporated community in Southern California. It’s a desert at high altitude, which gives the landscape some strange characteristics. There are long stretches of nothingness with wide, gaping holes opening up in the sand, while other areas are lush and green. There are dry patches of brambles and cacti mixed with flowering trees and grass. The dryer ground is littered with thorns that stick in the soles of your shoes.
On the outskirts of town, there are small, dilapidated houses and motor homes spread out through the wilderness. Some are encircled with barbed wire to keep out trespassers. There are certain areas and roads that most locals know to avoid, because the people there tend to be strange and hostile. On front porches throughout the town, people sit creaking audibly in the sun and glaring at tumbleweeds. There is a sense of nothing happening and nothing continuing to happen.
A character I might set in this place is a young man who is just passing through town on his way to visit family. His car breaks down and he’s stuck there a while. Maybe he does something to accidentally upset the more unsavory folks who live here.