meet Charlie.

I have nothing of substance to say, so by all means meet Charlie.
One of the characters, that has taken up much of my time.
Charlie is a 30-something photographer.
The following is from Charlie's blog.


You can never forget that look, they get in their eyes.
It’s full of doubt, a hint of trust, and a little sadness.
I always feel guilty for asking. Like a pimp, of sorts.
She lifts her arms above her head, and proceeds to pull it off, like a child undressing for the first time.
Although anna was a woman, I saw she knew nothing of seduction. I saw her in the back of unkept cars, where the only foreplay was a wet tongue.
It was also, becoming anna strutted around as most women do, all knowingly, and there it was she knew nothing. I’d laugh, but I’d rather capture this.
Anna was vulnerable, as she’d probably said to herself, she’d never be.
The breaking of anna.
Her skin the color of olive.
Thanks to her ancestors from Sicily.
Two mouthfuls of breast.
Anna said every woman in her family, owns these.
Anna would later tell me, how she went from bandaging her breast a young girl, to letting them hang free.
I’ve never known her to wear a bra.
When you saw anna you saw, her blouse/shirt, and two round nipples.
She’d brag about how she only owned one bra, her Sunday bra.
See on Sunday she’d go to visit her family.
The territorial provider men, and the modest big busted women of her family.
A good Sicilian girl.
Once cool as a cucumber.
Once her thoughts, you could read only in Brail, or Korean.
Now her thoughts smothered on her face, like that red lipstick.
The breaking of anna.
Soon I’d build her.
Soon she’d be truly knowing, or at least unarguably knowing.


My problem is I fall in love with my objects.
I fall in love with moments.
Not women.
I was falling for anna.
And no it wasn’t her breasts, for once.
I introduced myself for those two reasons.
She’d thrust her chest out, then chastise you for paying attention.
Anna said she wasn’t looking for a soul mate, or the love of anyone’s life. But, yet a man who’d look in her
Eyes, instead of you know where.
‘you know where’ I’ve never known any woman to call anyplace on her body
‘you know where’.
Her body language was one of confidence, and freedom.
She seemed to move about, as freely as the breeze.
I’d dare you to find effort.
But her words, were immature, even childish.
I love her eyes, she wants to be loved for other than her breast.
Her breast robbed her of her own beauty.
Even I, a ‘trained’ eye, only noticed her breast.
I didn’t notice her lips, her raven hair, how her body grew moles in the most delicate of places.
She was more.


She never let go of that darn pillow.
Most of the shots, were those of her back, neck, shoulders, and of course of her face.
After the shoot was done, she’d quickly dress, with her back turned to me.
I held the twenty dollar bill between my fingers.
As she reached, and tugged I held on to the bill, then she’d meet my face with all of the fake ‘know’ and intimidate me to adding another twenty to her pay.
‘good-bye Charlie.’
When was the last time someone told me ‘good-bye’
‘bye’ yeah
‘peace’
‘later’
And some leave without it.
‘goodbye anna.’

What do you think?