At the corner of Hayes and Octavia, where the crack addicts of lower market clash with the hipsters of Hayes Valley, sits a very old bar run by an even older tranny named Marlena.
I would never profess to be recalcitrant about trannies - one of the funniest moments of my life was when one canoodled my little sister's boyfriend into rubbing his face against her thigh - but I was not prepared for Marlena's. Four magnificent transvestites, one a polynesian-themed glory who swung blue eyeshadow in a way I have seen no one else achieve, graced the bar, but they were the least remarkable of the clientele. I was more taken aback by the presence of yuppy straight couples, or the "regulars" who spend every night at Marlena's but never remember that they have met my friend's dog (Marlena allows dogs) roughly twenty times. The berber carpet, the 80s music, the cutie bartender who looked like he might just be straight - the place looked at first glance like the perfect tranny dive bar.
That is, until I realized Marlena was a pedofile. Looking up at Marlena's this day in early July, we slowly noticed three separate alters to the Lord Harry Potter. Marlena had every move poster ever printed pasted up on her grey concrete bar walls. She also had a reproduction of the Elder Wand (yeah, I know what that is), a first edition of The Tales of Beedle and Bard (that I don't), little Harry Potter medals. Most of her magazine cutouts featured the 11 year old Daniel Radcliffe, not his post-Equuis man-form.
A couple of the present trannies gave me eyes. My Southern grandmother would never guess that some transvestites prefer fucking women. Clearly Marlena is not one of them. But they do.
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