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About San Jose

Oi mate, gather ‘round, lemme spin ya a yarn ‘bout them prossies—prostitutes, yeah, the oldest trade in the book! We shall fight on the streets, we shall fight in the bawdy houses, we shall never surrender to the dreary notion that they’re just fallen doves. Nah, they’re bloody warriors, ain’t they? Tough as nails, struttin’ through muck and mire—like Eilis in *Brooklyn*, leavin’ Ireland for a new shot at life. “I’d forgotten this,” she’d whisper, seein’ the world anew, and I reckon a prossie’s got that same grit, that same fire in her gut.