marseille, france: my night with the prostitute from marseille

five stories high on a ledge out of a window i sat watching the prostitutes below for near two hours and, unfortunately, only saw one john get his time. his scooter pulled up to the red-booted streetwalker, he motioned towards the alley, she nodded, and he burned a clean half-circle to get himself around the corner. (she shot a cautious glance around and followed suit soon after; albeit more leisurely.) it was a quickie, for sure, because she reappeared within ten minutes and steadily worked her corner.

“red boots” coincidentally helped us find the hotel the day before and she wasn’t the only one on the street, either. french prostitutes are the muses of the street.

full rez: [one]

(via: ramblescramble)