Jacket & MU: Blanka Amezcua.
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.
As a kid I'd split my weekdays between private Catholic school during the day and evenings at my grandparents. En la 20 de Noviembre. Weekends would be spent at the bullfighting plaza.
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.
