In this obscene photograph sold in the street secretly (have to watch out for the police), in this whorish photograph, how could there be such a dream-like face? How did you get in here? Who knows what a degrading, vulgar life you lead; how horrible the surroundings must have been when you posed to have this picture taken; what a cheap soul you must have. But in spite of all this, and even more, you remain for me the dream-like face, the figure shaped for and dedicated to the Hellenic kind of pleasure- that's how you remain for me and how this poem speaks about you. C.P. Cavafy

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