The winter sun dropped to the west of Greenpoint.
The tenement bricks glowed red under a cold spring sky.
I climbed the stairs to a small studio showing small paintings of Walter Robinson.
I nodded to Lisa and the artist. They seemed very much in love.
Walter's painting were not self-portraits, but studies of New York transvestities.
I asked Lisa if she was the muse.
Tony Viramontes had painted her portrait in Paris.
"You really think I look like a transvestite."
"You were androgenous at a younger age."
You're the tenth person to ask me, if I'm Walter's muse."
And I thought I was being original.
"Dream on, you ladyboy killer."
She laughed, because no one was really original anymore. Not with 6 billion people on this Earth, however Walter's paintings transported to another era.
The Other Side in Boston.
She was a star.
Same as Lisa.
Walter's wife had a good laugh.
She thanked me for coming and waved good-bye.
I headed outside.
Fort Greene was only a G-train ride away.
Not far away at all.
Unlike the Other Side in 1975.
Those girls were original.
Every day of the week.
Fotos by Bobby Busnach and Peter Nolan Smith