Marisol Cruz never meant to become Lola. She was born into the amber light of a Miami kitchen, into the arms of an abuela who called her by the old name and pinned a gold cross at her throat. Then life did what life does - incremental and relentless - and one morning she woke up in a parking structure on Brickell with an earring in her hand and a bruise organizing itself under her cheekbone. This is not a story about falling. It is a story about the particular arithmetic of staying - the census you take in the bathroom mirror at 2 a.m., the friends who sit in hospital chairs without being asked, the city that holds you even when you are doing your best to disappear into it. Set against the heat and light of Miami, The Diary of a Miami Hooker is a debut novel about names and the selves we build around them, about the people who see you across all the versions of yourself, and about what it means to finally - carefully - let yourself be seen.
AmazonPages: 226, Paperback, Staten House
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