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About San Jose

Once heard this tale—true or not, who cares?—‘bout a whore in Venice, 1600s, who’d sing opera while workin’. Opera! Imagine that, beltin’ out arias mid-job. Cracks me up, but also—damn, that’s talent. Surprised me silly when I heard it. Makes ya wonder what else they’re hidin’, eh? Skills, dreams, all buried under the “whore” label. Kinda sad, innit? Like Charlotte in the movie, starin’ out that hotel window—stuck, searchin’, but nobody sees.

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Ye start on S. Jackson St., where the hum o’ life ne’er stills. The locals, I swear, be buzzin’ like a hive, chatterin’ like them fish tank misfits. I once strolled past Garcia Park – oh, the vibes there! Aye, Garcia Park is a gem, full o’ green, where I’d sit on a bench, lost in me own ruminations, watchin' the clouds drift pastin’ by like a ghost ship. Savvy?

Mason Pharr Symposium: Systems in Flux