Mary Smith sat here. So did a lot of her ladies of the night. So did the mayor of San Diego. They say he was a client. But that was the Gilded Age. It was the 1800s. It wasn’t uncool.
We’re in deepest Stingaree.
Me, I’m sitting in the sun on this cute little patio with iron grilles and flower boxes. I look at the windows above, where the ladies would hang out and burble “Hey, good-lookin,’ come up and see us sometime.” ’Course, Mary had to approve. She was the madam.
Same building, same street. Century later. That’s what I love about this part of town. It’s creaking with history.
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