Friday shoots finished and moon bright, I cruise the streets edging Pico.
I see her in glimpses, easing corners, crouching curbside, a doorway silhouette.
Pushing midnight, I find her outside El Gato’s. Our cameras do the introductions.
“Anything good?”
“Nadda. You?”
“A few.” I nod across to the Drop On Inn.
“Different sorta darkroom, maybe?”
I kiss up through her cum-slicked pubes, between her breasts, and find her lips.
“Saint Ansel’s ass! You frame a sweet fuck, girl,” she concedes.
I live by two truths. Great photos happen five inches behind the camera. Great sex, five inches behind the tongue.
