It’s almost 10:00 PM and I’m lying down in a small room of a bathhouse. The lights are dim and I’m confronted by multiple reflections of myself in this room of mirrors. A continuous flow of people walks by curious to see who’s inside. Just as someone catches my attention, my phone begins to ring. My dad is calling wondering where I am, reminding me that I have to go to work the next morning. I turn over on my stomach and contemplate whether I should let this guy in or pack up my things and head home.

7:30 AM: my mom texts me asking where I disappeared to this morning. I’m currently walking through a sea of used condoms and their respective wrappers with my camera. I respond to my mom assuring her that I will be home soon. Suddenly, I stumble upon a wooden frame with trash spread throughout it. Among the trash are two perfectly placed pages from some porn magazine, like an erotic altar for whoever discovers it. Twigs caress and obscure the frame as if it were a voluptuous model similar to those in the images. As soon as the shutter of my camera goes off, I’m confronted by both a homeless man in the bushes nearby and a text from my mom saying that she made breakfast.

Saturday afternoon: I’m sitting in my living room waiting for the rest of my family to get ready for a party. My dad is in the shower and my sister is frantically trying to put on makeup before we leave. My mom is sitting adjacent to her on our couch. I notice she starts rubbing her foot on the carpet out of boredom. I'm enticed by the movement, but more importantly the cracked skin at the end of her heel. The dense texture reminds me of the beautiful, thick pubes from a stranger I picked up while cruising through Elysian Park. It’s now 2:40 PM and we’re stuck in traffic on our way to the party—the stranger’s pubes are still on my mind as we slowly move through cars.  


Image: James Garcia, Your Lust My Longing, digital print, 6"x6",  2017

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