I found this woman screaming her head off and waving her arms around frantically in the middle of the street near Union Square. She weaved between cars and stumbled in my direction, blurting out that she was addicted to crack, the corners of her mouth white with spit. Shouting that she was tired of people mistaking her for Mick Jagger, she looked at me and began to pose for the camera, clutching a small living creature wrapped up in a couple of dirty sweaters close to her breast. "Just talk to me", she asked again and again, but when I stopped to chat her up, she quickly said, "You're sick!", and ran off.
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