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The first time I saw him he was sitting on a small brown suitcase outside Cliff’s Variety store in the Castro area of San Francisco. He looked forlorn and anxious, glancing nervously at the faces of the passers-by from beneath a curly nylon wig. His ankle length dress was decorated with a cheap floral motif and buttoned up to his neck. Over this he wore a soiled, brown raincoat. Perched on his head was a small felt hat and on his feet a pair of old trainers. Leaning against the tin cup in front of him was a small sign, hand-written on a piece of torn cardboard: ‘Only need another $285.60 for my sex change.’

Over the next few weeks I saw him in several different locations, always dressed in the same clothes, a few coins in the cup and the amount on the sign unchanged. On each occ.. more >>