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About Florence

What bugs me? The fakeness. She’s moanin’ like a porn star, and I’m thinkin’, “You’re no Margot, sweetie.” Everybody lies, even in the sack. Exaggeratin’ for tips—pathetic. I limp off, mutterin’, “This is not a drill,” like Royal yellin’ at the fire. Total chaos, but I’m alive, smirkin’. Findin’ a prostitute? Easy. Trustin’ ‘em? That’s the limp I can’t shake.

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In her essay “A Prostitute, A Servant, And A Customer-Service Representative: A Latina in Academia”, Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender, and Race .

Then I hit the streets. Lugo’s got this ancient wall, right? The Muralla Romana. It’s like, super old and all that. I’m walking around, and I’m just amazed. I mean, I’m a forester, I love nature, but history? That’s a whole different kind of beauty. I’m snapping pics like a tourist. I felt like a kid in a candy store.

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