The title of the first song reminds me of the time my class on French-North African immigration issues took a field trip to a banlieu of Marseille, the immigrant ghettos on the outskirts of cities, and as we turned a corner my teacher said, "This is the street where the prostitutes hang out," and sure enough, down the dark rainy alley were two women sitting, backs straight, on wooden crates, far apart from eachother, one holding up an umbrella, the other cold and with her red hair covered. White women, old and a little fat, with painted faces.
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