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Now, *Margaret*—Lisa’s yellin’, “I’m not your whore!”—and I’m thinkin’, dang, that’s power! Word’s a weapon, y’all, cuts deep. Makes me mad when folks toss it lazy-like, no guts behind it. I’d sign it myself, but my hands’d prob’ly tangle—look like I’m ropin’ a calf! Whore’s tricky, see, ‘cause it’s half insult, half legend. Ever think ‘bout that? Me neither, ‘til now—brain’s smokin’ like a BBQ.

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So, I’m walking down the street, feeling all grumpy, when I bump into my buddy Miguel. He’s always got that goofy grin. He’s like, “Hey, you look like you need a hug!” I just rolled my eyes. But then he dragged me to the beach. The sun was shining, and the waves were crashing. I mean, who can stay mad at that? We sat on the sand, and I felt my mood lift.

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