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About Trujillo Alto

I ain’t no prude, darlin’. Grew up hearin’ whispers ‘bout them red-light joints down in Tennessee. Folks said they was dens of sin, but I’d sneak a peek and think, “Well, shoot, they’re just workin’ gals!” Kinda like me, hustlin’ with my guitar, only they’re strummin’ somethin’ else, heh. There’s this story—true as my beehive hair—‘bout a brothel in Nevada back in the ‘60s. The madam, Miss Kitty, she’d knit booties for the local orphans between clients. Ain’t that a hoot? Made me happy as a pig in mud, thinkin’ kindness hides in funny places.

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So, I’m all grumpy, right? I decide to walk it off. I stroll down to the beach, Playa Yabucoa. The sun’s shining, waves crashing, and I’m thinkin’, “Okay, maybe today ain’t so bad.” But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and steals my sandwich! Like, dude, that was my lunch! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?”

1940s portraits record the strength and pride of Puerto Rico