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Ronda stands, slipping on her jacket. She says—"I'll walk you out, George...I gotta go out anyway."
In the elevator going down, she's quiet. Until she says: "I hope I don't see Charlie."
"Who's Charlie?" I ask her.
"You know," she says, reminding me: "The one I ripped that seven hundred dollars off of. I'm always worried about seeing him."
The elevator stops at the lobby.
"Is he the type," I ask, "that might get violent?"
"Somebody told me he would. He has two guns that I know of."
We step out into the lobby.
"That he keeps in his car."
.....................
On the sidewalk outside, as I'm saying good-bye, I notice that Ronda is standing in the path of a narrow but brilliant shaft of sunlight. I turn to see its source. The lowering afternoon sun is casting her rays between two tall buildings. Casting them down upon Ronda like a spotlight beamed from the heavens.
My photographer's eye stimulated, I reach quickly for a camera…
I've got to get a picture of Ronda in this light, where all but her is in the shadows...
On the other side of Peachtree, suddenly, are two mounted policemen, their horses' hoof-beats sounding on the pavement.
"Yeah!" Now Ronda gets excited. "Get a picture of me with these cops in it! Hurry!" she commands as I fumble with the f-stops. "Hurry! Take it! Take it!"
I snap the shutter—just in time, I hope—catching Ronda, plus the cops on their horses; and I'm taking more just of Ronda when all at once her face lights up.
"There's my buddy!"
Her eyes, gleeful, are fixed on some man about halfway down the block. She skips down the sidewalk to him. I watch as they hug then together walk toward me.
The guy, I see as they come closer, is in his twenties, wearing a made-to-look-like-leather vinyl jacket and a felt hat, its brim turned down.
Ronda does the introductions—quite properly as always. He's Michael Hoffman, a good friend of hers, although she hasn't seen him in ages. And I am George Mitchell, "the one who wrote Ponce de Leon." Michael's into photography himself—he owns a Cannon system, he says—and he's always admired the pictures in Ponce de Leon.
"Well, right now, I'm doing a whole book on Ronda," I tell him.
"Way to go, Ronda!" He grins widely, showing some black and rotting teeth.
Ronda smiles.
But then a shadow crosses her face and her gaze drops downward toward the sidewalk. "Yeah...well..." she surprises me by saying, "I'm not too sure about what I'm representing."
"I love Ronda," says Michael, turning to me. "She's not like the rest of the girls out here." He puts his arm around her. "She's...she's about like a six-year-old. And I've never seen her get angry."
You just don't know, I think to myself, having heard her express such extreme anger about her mother so many times. You just don't know.
As they catch up on each other, I photograph them...
And at one point, Michael, facing Ronda, places his hands on her shoulders...and Ronda's eyes close, and the tension disappears from her face...
Briefly disappears...just as it had a couple of months ago when I placed my hand on her forehead to feel for fever.
Michael leaves, and as I am putting away my cameras, Ronda, watching me, mutters, "You could get a picture of Charlie putting a bullet through my head."
"What?!" I exclaim. "That's not something I want to get a picture of."
"Well," she says, and there's no little laugh, "it could happen."
______________________________________________________Photo and text excerpted from RONDA: AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF A SOUTHERN STREET PROSTITUTE
Volume one
Volume two
ENGLISH:
The two Salvation Army officers speak to two prostitutes. Many of the women who work on the street were lured to Switzerland with false promises and are now being forced to offer their services. They have to pay usury rents for their small room and also have to give a large part of their earnings to the pimps. The women cannot go to the police because their passports have been confiscated. The women are also threatened that if they do not do what the pimps command, the family in their home country will be harmed. These are terrible conditions and the Salvation Army is trying to help a little where it is possible.
1/87 scale diorama. I labeled the Ritze car model myself with the text: We help with God's help - Salvation Army.
Also note the poster, it says: For people who work in the streets - Salvation Army.
ESPAÑOL:
Los dos oficiales del Ejército de Salvación hablan con dos prostitutas. Muchas de las mujeres que trabajan en la calle fueron atraídas a Suiza con falsas promesas y ahora se ven obligadas a ofrecer sus servicios. Tienen que pagar rentas de usura por su pequeña habitación y también tienen que dar una gran parte de sus ganancias a los proxenetas. Las mujeres no pueden acudir a la policía porque les han confiscado los pasaportes. Las mujeres también son amenazadas de que si no hacen lo que mandan los proxenetas, la familia en su país de origen se verá perjudicada. Estas son condiciones terribles y el Ejército de Salvación está tratando de ayudar un poco donde es posible.
Diorama a escala 1:87. Yo mismo etiqueté el modelo de auto Ritze con el texto: Ayudamos con la ayuda de Dios - Ejército de Salvación.
También observe el cartel que dice: Para las personas que trabajan en las calles - Ejército de Salvación.
DEUTSCH:
Die beiden Heilsarmeeoffizierinnen sprechen mit zwei Prostituierten. Viele der Damen, die auf dem Strassenstrich arbeiten wurden mit falschen Versprechungen in die Schweiz gelockt und werden nun dazu gezwungen ihre Dienste anzubieten. Für ihr kleines Zimmer müssen sie Wuchermieten bezahlen und müssen dazu noch einen grossen Teil ihres Verdienstes an die Zuhälter abgeben. Die Frauen können nicht zur Polizei gehen, weil ihnen die Pässe abgenommen wurden. Auch wird den Frauen gedroht, dass wenn sie nicht machen was die Zuhälter befehlen, der Familie im Heimatland etwas angetan wird. Das sind schreckliche Verhältnisse und die Heilsarmee versucht da etwas zu helfen, wo es möglich ist.
Diorama im Massstab 1:87. Das Ritze Auto Modell habe ich selber beschriftet mit dem Text: Wir helfen mit Gottes Hilfe - Heilsarmee.
Beachte auch das Plakat an der Häuserwand.
First, I'm sick of seeing how the prostitute is at "the heart of the Spitzer sex scandal." I'm in no way condoning what she did, but I mean, come on, who the only person really at the heart of the Spitzer scandal is Mr.-I'll-Pay-$4,000+-to-Have-Extramarital-Affairs-Spitzer. And then Mrs. Spitzer just caaaalmly stood next to him during his resignation speech. Quite frankly, I see no dignity or bravery in that. How could you stand next to such a psycho sicko?? Bahh, I'm sick of people like her and Hillary Clinton promoting these ridiculous "Stand by your cheating, lousy, pigheaded, disgusting, perverted man" ideas. I mean, I'm psyched that we have a woman presidential candidate, but if she didn't have enough strength to leave her husband, even if she really didn't leave him simply for political reasons, how can she lead a country?? And she's setting a horrrrrrible example for girls/women everywhere.
Second, I don't know if you guys saw it, but the picture on the Explore page of the naked baby in the bowl creeped me out to the umpteenth degree. I mean, why would you want a picture of your baby in cooking ware? Hansel and Grettel, anyone? Furthermore, it was naked! I knoooowwww people just looooove naked baby pictures, and if those are your thing, hooray for you. But a naked baby....in a bowl.... I've seen a lot of strange things on flickr, but that may just be the strangest.....
I took another flickr/photo vacation. These things are just popping up like crazy. I'm really going to try to comment and respond, but eeesh, I don't know. I've been so out of the swing of things lately, and I apologize. I'll be back on track soon, I think. Okay, I made two corny rhymes in two sentences. That's dorky. Ohhhh, man. My k key wasn't working for a second, and then we would have had dory...and that is not dorky...
It was gloriously warm outside. I was out there for hours just doing nothing, and it felt amazing. And there were all of these birds flying directly overhead..... I didn't have my camera with me when it happened, though.... But I was just like, of course...that is just the kind of luck I have. But maybe it's better that I was able to see them with just my eyes, not through a viewfinder.
And guess who has a job interview at Dairy Queeeeeen tomorowwww! I'm very happy. Ice cream + summer = unadulterated love. I just hope it goes well. I say the most horribly ridiculous things when I'm flustered.
Lovely texture from NinianLif
I built a sexy hooker to counter my opponent's build Always use protection. The figure itself is inspired by pasukaru76.
This is my 3rd build for the Iron Builder with Matthew De Lanoy.
The seed part is the Brick Round 2x2 Dome Bottom.
I'm still posing in front of my red light window, working as a prostitute and trying to seduce a customer to share some love and make some money. However, since the window is in a cabin in the woods I have a hard time finding anyone. Maybe that's for the best though, because I'm only a hobby prostitute doing this for a fun photo shoot. I hope that you, as my Flickr "customer", appreciate my sexy seductive efforts. All for free and no payment needed, although a positive comment would be welcome. Take care and see you again next week.
Thank you Tess for making these photos and for being my only "customer" after the photo shoot.
Ebook on Ronda
RONDA: AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF A SOUTHERN STREET PROSTITUTE
Volume One
To read about this photo of Ronda, see Volume Two
Prostitute, New Orleans, Louisiana, 1912
All photos in the "Vintage Photos" section are reprints that I have purchased at various ephemera shows.
Ebook on Ronda
RONDA: AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF A SOUTHERN STREET PROSTITUTE
Volume One
To read about this photo of Ronda, see Volume Two
I'm a prostitute in front of my red light window. In this line of work you got to draw attention and seduce your customer. Therefore I'm looking out of the window in a provocative pose, highlighting my long legs, silky stockings and soft satin bum. I'm just a beginner as a prostitute, but hopefully this pose looks skillful, will draw your attention and will pleasantly seduce you...
Disclaimer:
I am not for sale and this is just a photo shoot for fun.
Madrid, Spain.
The red light district of Madrid is around Calle Montera in the city center, between Puerta del Sol and Gran Via. It's what you'll find in any other major city, with a plethora of strip joints, sex shops and bored-looking women swinging their handbags.
[ Fujifilm FinePix HS10 ]
© 2013 Jordan Kevrekidis
La "Calle Montera" est une des rues les plus touristiques de Madrid. On y trouve des prostituées à toutes heures de la journée.
"Calle Montera" is one of the streets in Madrid, which attracts most tourists. There are prostitutes all hours of the day.
Excerpted from RONDA: AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF A SOUTHERN STREETWALKER. You may buy volume one of this ebook or read fifty pages for free here:
********************************************************************************
…A bleak silence falls over the room.
"Did you bring some pictures, George?" Ronda finally asks.
"I was going to print today, but the water's off in my darkroom."
"Oh," she says, no longer sounding so mad.
"I was going to print some very beautiful pictures of you with...with the bears…. However, do you know what this book needs?"
"Uh uh."
"It needs a picture of what you look like right now. ... And then you can look at it."
Ronda erupts. "What's wrong with the way I look now? I'd like to know what the fuck y'all think I look like! I've got fucking strep throat….”
She fades off.
Outside the sun has set, and the room is so dark now that I cannot clearly see Ronda's features. Speaking gently I say, "You know, Ronda, I don't know about the problems between you and Melvin or whatever, but when I was talking about how you look right now? You're sick with your throat, I understand that. But your eyes ...are just...heavy as hell... Like bloodshot."
"Well—[her voice weak]—you can call my mother—[pathetic, really]—and ask my mother...if it's not true...that the first thing that people looked at was my eyes...and know I was sick. My eyes tell everything!"
"Okay," I say. "I know you could care less about this project right now... I was just thinking about getting a picture of you in bad shape. But I don't need to, you know."
"Under the covers?"
"Huh? Under the covers? That would be all right," I say. "So just get back in bed."
When I get back from my car with my camera, Ronda is no longer in the chair at the dresser, neither is she under the covers, but is sitting on the edge of the bed cuddling Bob in her lap.
______________________
Excerpted from RONDA: AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF A SOUTHERN STREETWALKER. You may buy volume one of this ebook or read fifty pages for free here: