The first time we went to Raval, we walked straight to one of the two main streets where the prostitutes hang out. One of them is the territory of the Eastern European girls, and the other one is the territory of the African and the South American girls.
We tried to talk to a Romanian girl who was sort of friendly, but in a careful way. After a few minutes of talking, she said she didn't want to talk to us anymore, and walked off. The other girls just looked at us with suspicious eyes and didn't really say much. Although there was one girl who was also called Emma, and she sort of half-smiled to Emma when they realised they had the same name.
Then this guy came out of one of the grafitti-sprayed doors. He sort of barged out of the door, half-stumbled, and then caught himself back up to standing.
Covered in sweat, his skin was gleaming.
His pants were still unbuttoned, and he made an attempt at buttoning them, but didn't really succeed.
We started talking to him, and he was definitely willing to chat.
More than willing.
Too bad we couldn't really understand what he was saying!
He was high, drunk, and had just had sex with a girl. Or two, actually. Or so he sort of said. Mumbled. Babbled.
He was posing for the pictures we took of him, and he came so close to the camera that the spit from his mouth, that freely cascaded from his overactive mouth, covered the camera-lens.
We tried to ask him questions, but got no answers. Just a steady stream of information about sex, prostitutes, Raval, drugs.. Actually, drugs.. Any drug we wanted, he could get us. and in fact, if we wanted to try the pleasure of "being" with him, he would gladly "help" us...
I kept taking pictures of this colourful character, as he kept talking to Emma. He litterally chased her, and she had to duck to get away from his sweat and spit.
But we laughed a lot. My god.
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