Every year, it takes me by surprise …
While dropping off Mr. Judy last Wednesday, I notice a scraggly-haired dude and two girls with shaved heads walk past the bar and can’t help but stare. They’re sexually ambiguous and rough around the edges, all tattooed and dressed in black T-shirts, denim and leather. The kind of freaks you don’t really see in San Francisco anymore.
“Look at that,” I say. “Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know,” Judy responds, equally transfixed. “Maybe we should find out where they’re going.”
A short while later, I’m picking up Simone at Lucky 13, tying to make sense of the latest parking restrictions on Market, when I spot some more freaks.
“What’s going on?” I wonder.
“Are you serious with this shit?” Simone asks with a cackle. “It’s Pride. Hello?”
Oh, that’s right.
“This weekend is going to be a shit show,” she says bitterly. “And I have to work.”
“Well, at least they’re enriching the cultural landscape for a few days.”
“Fuck that,” she snaps back. “I need to make some money.”
On Thursday, the streets are filled with people, freaks and non-freaks and everything in between. Anticipation for Pride is like a jungle beat in the distance.
Read the rest here.
[photo by Douglas O’Connor]