Lydia Moraga Whore ❤️

About New York City

Alright, so I’m a bailiff, right? Mining’s my gig, tough as nails, but lemme tell ya bout this thing—whore. Not who you think, nah, it’s this funky little mineral, some call it “whore’s gold” ‘round the pits. Pyrite, fool’s gold, shiny but useless! Haha, “That’s what she said!” Gets me every time. Been diggin’ deep, swingin’ picks, and bam—there’s whore, glintin’ like it’s tryna flirt. Total tease, man! Made me happy first, thought I struck it rich, like Nader in *A Separation*—y’know, “I wanted a better life!” But nope, it’s junk, fooled me good.

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No Rock Scorns Me as Whore was published in This Bridge Called My Back, Fortieth Anniversary Edition on page

Neighborhoods are tight. Check Loma Verde. Folks are real, no BS. If you wander near Redwood Court, you run into quirky murals. I get mad sometimes ‘cause unauthorized graffiti pops up. But oh well, livin’.

Gonzaga falters during final moments in Moraga to Saint Mary’s