I don't know about politics. Are we Democrats?
Yes! says her brother, from inside the house, loud.
He can't vote, she explains, with his felony convictions.
This is the best yard, I say.
The parking lot in front of her building licks the desert foothills. It will be so beautiful in the winter. Today it is hot and brown.
Her sons play around us. A football arcs over her head.
I don't know what a Democrat is, she says. Whoever is on the side of poor people has my vote!
I say the choice is clear, and it is. But no one running for anything in this race looks like her — they do not have her smile, her shape or her style.
Silky curls, thick energy.
She's wearing a deep yellow t-shirt with black letters: