It’s 2:30 in the morning after a show. I’m wiped out and would love to head home, but my drag mother wants to get something to eat so we stop by an all-night sandwich joint on a seedy stretch of Market Street near City Hall. As we’re waiting for our food, I notice an sitting by the window, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders.

“You ladies are so beautiful,” she says, and I go over to talk to her. She’s a bit spacey, but very sweet—and homeless, though you’d never guess it by looking at her; she’s obviously taken pains to keep herself well-groomed. I tell her that her hair is gorgeous.

We chat for a bit, she mentions that she won’t stay at the shelters. It’s obvious that she’s spending the night here because it’s one of the few safe places for her. She wants to know how she can break into show business like Nikki and I—she thinks that might be a good way to make a living; maybe she can do stand-up; maybe she can save up enough to find a place. I don’t have the heart to tell her that there’s no money in either drag or comedy. Let her dream a little.

Our take-out is ready. Nikki, who I know is broke herself at the moment, walks over and gives the woman some money and tells her to get a nice breakfast. I do the same. Then we walk out in the night, my mascara running.