I love this picture; my wife took this in a tunnel by the creek that runs through downtown Austin, Texas. I like it because it reminds me of my first time in Paris. I was right out of the army, very little money and living out of an old canvas backpack. I had a beard and still wore my service boots. I remember wandering Paris, and from the bridges, I could see the places down by the river where the whores would take men to quickly service them. I was fascinated by the transaction, by the practiced dance that ensued.
I was unsure of myself, but positive I didn’t have the money for such an adventure, so it was left to the imagination: A man, confident, taking his whore under the bridge, stripping her and for the moment, owning her. If only those men of Paris had a souvenir picture taken by their loving wife, they could be as happy as I.
Austin ain’t Paris, but I challenge them to make a better margarita, and I will put my whore against any beautiful streetwalker in the Huchette.
