Paisley Hunts Point Whore ❤️

About San Jose

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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I may slip up on words, get my thoughts scrambled – life's messy, ain't it? But that's just how it goes around here. Aight, so next time you roll through Hunts-Point, take the time to soak it all in. Hear the whispers of the streets, feel the fierceness in the air, and remember – as Mr. T always say, "I pity the fool!" if he ever doubts the spirit of this badass neighborhood.

At Hunts Point Produce Market, change has been a constant