Mati Karlwein

I'm not a leg man, nor a foot fetishist, I don't even look at people's shoes and buying a pair for myself usually ends in disaster. I'm an eye-man, a soul-peeper.

But Olga wears thick glasses and instead of Puerto Rican soul-eyes you are looking at two distant oysters through the wrong end of a telescope but even if she didn't and even if she had the eyes of your favourite baby you'd see her legs first.
As Jesus is the Son of God, Olga is the illegitimate daughter of the Statue of Liberty and a Puerto Rican waiter; tall, Latin and funky, quick and funny, graceful and promiscuous she strides down the Guggenheim Museum's ramp, all the way down Fifth and up Fourteenth and down Broadway to chase the sea-wind up Wallstreet on silent Sunday mornings.
SM, palavra fratal