Little Mama is a fixture on the stroll. Everyone seems to know her. Barely five feet tall, she has a formidable reputation, and this reputation is consistent with her general demeanor of self reliance and competence. She is articulate and unafraid to describe her reasoning in performing sex work for a living. Despite some experience in retail and clerical work, she has a felony record and says she cannot find employment anywhere. (audio)

She says the police are corrupt and waste valuable resources chasing prostitutes instead of investigating crimes against people. As do 90% of the women we have surveyed, she also counts police officers among her customers.

France and I are invited to attend church in Evanston, where her mother is the pastor. We enjoy the gospel choir and are surprised when the call to give your life to Jesus begins, Little Mama is the first to take a seat in front facing the congregation. With her five year old boy sitting on her lap, she rocks and seems to be in a trance. More come up front and the healing begins with great shouting and crying. Little Mama has not been to church in five years and her mother speaks from the podium about the daughter who has returned.

We travel together to their home and share Sunday dinner with the entire family, including Little Mama's five children, who live with their grandmother. I detect a tension between the children and their actual mother. The older girl especially--about 14--says very little to her at all.

We drive back to the city and she falls asleep, exhausted, in the back of the car. Finally we return her to the crack house where she spends much of her time, and to her real life.

We asked her to use a disposable camera to make photographs of her environment. After several days, we took the camera to the local photo shop and had these developed. Unfortunately, the flash malfunctioned and only a few photos were usable. Here are two.

The pictures are actually Little Mama in a moment of repose and smoking cocaine.

Friday afternoon, France and I run into Little Mama and learn she has been released from three days' incarceration at the Belmont and Western police station. The booking numbers are written onto her hands in indelible ink that takes days to wear off.

The interesting part of this story is that she has been picked up on this stale warrant more than once before, yet it continues to happen each time she has a police encounter. Apparently, it remains in the computer long after it should have been removed. Her mother hires an attorney to resolve this error, and he returns with a piece of paper stating the warrant is a mistake. She is to produce this when the police stop her again. Broke and disconsolate, she wanders towards the avenue to turn a trick, muttering that she is sick of her life. I feel helpless.

This should reassure any doubts we had about that national ID card with a built in remote sensor (RISC) chip we'll be required to carry starting in 2008.