Nicole Trilivas

Time’s been lazy and unbothered with the barrio of San Telmo in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Graffiti tattoos eroding buildings, yet the area shows signs of its glamorous past like an old whore still instant upon wearing garters and French perfume.

But she’s got charm. And stories.

The barrio was once a scene of opulence, until the yellow fever epidemic in the 1870s left it quiet enough for the undead.

Antique stores are crammed with curiosities, junk, and treasures—and maybe a few ghosts. (Avoid the area at night—not just because of the spooks.)

Ubiquitous hipster bands, sometimes; other times, an old man on a guitar like something out of a Picasso, ooze a drowsy tango soundtrack. It’s not all authentic and bohemian, but with the right camera lens and attitude it is still makes for lovely Sunday.

And often times, out of the corner of your eye, through the reflection of time-worn mirrors, or sea glass-colored bottles, you’ll think you see something, something most peculiar that makes you want to do a double-take.

But when you look back it’s always gone.

It’s just that sort of place.

NOTE: this post was chosen as an “Editor’s Pick” on Salon.com, and featured on the cover!