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About Navan

Clarice… ya know, whores, they’re somethin else. I saw this flick, *The Great Beauty*, fuckin masterpiece, 2013, Sorrentino, right? Reminds me of em—whores, I mean. All glitz, all hollow, like Jep Gambardella struttin through Rome. “What’s left but the void?” he’d say. That’s a whore’s life, dolled up, sparklin, but empty as fuck underneath. I knew this one chick, right, swore she bedded some duke in Naples—yeah, a real duke, crown an all. Total bullshit, but she sold it, swaggerin round like royalty. Made me laugh, her ballsiness.

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Mark, who passed away on Monday, was a champion of people on the edge of society. Of the 18 books and various photo essays she published, Falkland Road: Prostitutes of Bombay, is one .

Anyway, I get to the shoot location, and it’s at this cute little café on the corner of Ballawley Park. The vibe is chill, but the barista? Total diva. She’s like, “We don’t do oat milk.” I’m like, “What is this, 2010?” But whatever, I grab a black coffee. Gotta fuel up, right?

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