When Beautiful Women Make Bad Choices

Sunset Junction Street Fair, a Gathering of the Hipsters. A full on heat-fest and scrum within a 10' tall chain-link fence and wildly overpriced water and food for the newly-hungry once the sun went down.

There were an astonishing number of really cute/hot women and yes, my little woodchucks, MILFs galore. In the midst of the swarm were also girls who looked like they stepped straight outta 1979. The hair, the curves, the clothes, the look in the eye, and none of them were older than 23. There's a cosmic mystery to ponder.

Now we are waiting for Morris Day and the Time. Me and 10,000 of my new best friends. Directly in front of us is a swan-necked, alabaster brunette beauty. She has a completely non-generic profile, ringlets, a sensuous mouth. My brain is squirming like the proverbial toad. And she is with a troll who knows that He Is Going To Get Very Lucky, Soon.

I begin to notice that her skin is disfigured with utterly generic tattoos. A skull and crossbones. "California Cool" piece of art that looked like it was swiped from a 1981 O-P knockoff. She turns to face the troll. Her gorgeous hair is up over the nape of her neck.

I spot the Dog Turd Tattoo. I point it out to Karen. I ask her what it looks like. She thinks it looks like a dog turd.

I hoist the camera, set to f2.8, 1/60th sec, with a flash. I fire it. And there it is.


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