Something Desperate - Jennifer Baljko

Downtown, where the narrow streets, twist and curve through the Raval neighborhood, there’s a place where seediness is the norm. Locals try to avoid it, rerouting through less conspicuous side streets. Visitors tend to stumble on it, with or without much effort. The high foot-traffic prostitution pass is hard to miss.

Young girls with Eastern European and Latin American features lean up on stone walls, adjusting their skirts and tank tops, fidgeting on their stilettos. On the corner, equally young men, shady characters, – a global collection of faces and color – stand with cell phones and scan the street with eagle eyes. Mixing with the bunch, old white-haired men taking long drags on cigarettes watching the circus. Old ladies with their hair done just right scurry by with their shopping carts filled with meat and vegetables. Cops flash their light, sometimes there’s a crack down, usually during the peak tourist season, but often there’s not much that can be done. A hand-made sign hangs off the terrace of a nearby apartment building, begging for quiet nights, human dignity, and a little bit of respect for people who can’t afford to live somewhere.

There’s more than a tinge of desperation circling the scene. Everyone’s looking for something - or at least it seems, they’re looking for something else to do - but they're all sucked into the dismal grayness of ordinary lives lived in a parallel world.