Grace Moca Brothel ❤️

About San Juan

Alright, so brothel—man, what a freakin’ mess! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like—why? Why’s this even a thing? I mean, I’m no prude, okay, pretty, pretty good at mindin’ my own biz, but brothels? They’re like the trash compactor scene in WALL-E, y’know, “Directive!”—all squished up, dirty, and you’re wonderin’ who’s runnin’ this dump! I saw this joint once, Nevada, legal spot—total shock, I’m tellin’ ya! Guys linin’ up like it’s a deli counter, “Gimme the special!”—and I’m over here, losin’ my mind, thinkin’, “What’s wrong with you schmucks?”

Taboos and Hidden Communities on Display at MOCA

The most baffling chapter in the exhibition (and in Degas' oeuvre) examines his brothel scenes, which were “unexhibited until after his death,” according to.

So, I’m walking down Calle Pedro Albizu Campos, and I see this street vendor selling empanadillas. I mean, who can resist that? I grab one, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. Happiness level: 100. But then, I drop it. Yup, right on the ground. I’m standing there, staring at my fallen treasure like it’s a crime scene.

I finally added internet to my kitchen and all it took was my old cable TV wiring — here’s how