Nora Morrow Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout whores—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” I’m standin’ here, runnin’ this creaky ol’ elevator, thinkin’ bout them ladies of the night, y’know? Like, whores got this vibe—mysterious, gritty, real. Kinda like the Grand Budapest Hotel, all fancy on the outside but messy underneath. “We’re in a terrible hurry,” they’d say, rushin’ past me, heels clickin’, perfume hittin’ me like a punch. I see ‘em, workin’ the streets, and I’m like—damn, they OWN the shadows, mate.

Description

I mean, seriously, just wander, ya dig? Get lost on the twisting lanes, lose hours in parks, feel that rush near the creek. Morrow (us) never fails to shock, delight, and sometimes infuriate. And if you listen close, you’ll hear it whisper, “Yi Yi… to a oned to a two…”

Lance Morrow, 85, Award-Winning Essayist for Time Magazine, Is Dead