I've had a couple of bad experiences at an unmentionable French Moroccan establishment in Alphabet City. The first was a pretty big fight with Meg on her birthday. The second, well...I should've stayed in BK that night. I escorted myself out...sort of...she helped.
Sweet.
My name's Raúl Hofer Torres. All names are borrowed. I am a cliché. Raúl is my father's. Hofer is my ex-step-father's. It was shortened from the Austrian Topritzhoffer. Torrés is my mother's. It belonged to a hacienda Don near my hometown of Torreón, Coahuila, México. He took care of my great-grandfather after his family was murdered by Revolutionary fighters. I grew up and was educated around the world thank you to my family's work. I was a spoiled diplomatic/military brat. I reside in one of Mario's buildings in the Williamsburg area of Brooklyn NY. The people in the images and text range from a complete stranger approached on the street, to a model, a friend, a lover, or a family member. Someone I got attached to. The stories are new and old. Me in non-chronological order. "X" means nudity.
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