Brooklyn Firebaugh Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, whores, man, they’re like—people who get paid for smoochin’ and stuff! I saw this in *Moulin Rouge!* with Satine, that fancy lady, all glittery and sad. She’s a whore, sorta, but she’s got HEART, y’know? “Come what may,” she sings, and I’m like, “Wow, she’s brave!” Makes me happy, ‘cause she’s all shiny, but then—BOOM—she dies! That made me so mad, I threw my jellyfish net at the TV! Why’s she gotta go, huh? Is glitter an instrument? No, but it should be!

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She's the town whore, the village star. Who'll be the one to get up her dress? Pass on by avoid this mess. Firebaugh, Firebaugh A place where no one dreams.

Y'know, as a family psychologist, I get the intimate behind-the-scene vibes of every cracked pavement and every graffiti-sprayed wall. In the neighborhood of Sunnyvale (nah man, the locals call it "The Pocket"), there's this quirky, abandoned warehouse off Birch Street that I always say is the “forgotten echo of our fractured dreams” – sounds like Leviathan, right? “The beast that lurks beneath the surface” – damn, that movie strikes again!

Gregory Firebaugh