Missy is a drug-addicted transvestite streetwalker with a warm bittersweet personality. She lives on the streets or crashes with friends in tumble-down shelters. In an hourly-rate motel room, I pose her on the bed in front of the television. I turn on the tube, looking for background and Jesse Jackson's head addresses America.
Eons ago, Jesse Jackson had been on the scene when James Earl Ray took Martin Luther King's life with a hate-directed bullet. Yet here is Jesse still full of hope. I like Jesse Jackson I tell Missy. I even voted for him one time.
Missy tells me she has never voted for anyone because all politicians are liars and assholes.
I ask her to look at me and think happy thoughts, then take three quick pictures but the flash only fires for the first and third.
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