And a moment to wipe a little bit of the moisture.
In Fresno, it's hot, but apparently, when we got here,
we also brought the humidity.
My apologies.
In the Central Valley of California,
we often celebrate Joaquin Murietta.
We do a trail, parade of sorts, honoring his journey,
honoring his sort of identity as like bandit hero, vigilante.
Something I didn't even realize is
that I had embedded the reality that he had been lynched.
Even though he's a person who may or may not have existed,
and who may or may not have his head in a jar that
got sent around California in a barnstorming, for $1,
you could see his head.
Later on, there was an earthquake.
And in that earthquake, actually realized
that a hedge fund manager still owns his head.
Maybe this is for him.
May that hedge fund manager sleep well.
La Corona, a Mexican lynching, number 47.
Anything can be trophy, just as anything
can be ashtray, coffee cup, curb,
flower pot, the inside of your wrist,
the inside of another's wrist, claim anything, anything.
Witness, badge, halo, horn, colony, victim, vane, coffin,
president, cadaver, the quiet breath of a body at rest.
Claim, claim, claim, claim, claim, claim, claim, claim,
claim, claim, claim, claim, anything.