A rainy-day walk turns into fiction

I just saw the weirdest and funniest thing in SF at this moment in The Mission. It is a rainy day and I've been out enjoying a walk in the light and steady downfall. As I passed 21st street, an old man dressed up in tweed and a beret pushed off on a unicycle. He slung a strapped guitar over his shoulder and shoved off into the drizzling haze. I turned to my left whilst passing and began laughing in delight at him. He smiled back and cycled ahead.

A few feet ahead of me, the unicycler tipped his head to an equally elder tranny. She had neck-length white hair to match her white moustache. She was wearing a long, pink satin ball-gown covering what looked to be implanted breasts, which strained against her dress fabric. She was leaning forward at a 45 degree angle hauling along behind her two incredibly heavy-looking suitcases.

The happy-tweeded unicycler gladly greeted a fellow he recognized to beas interesting as himself. The sober tranny, clearly sad and lost in intricate thoughts, wasn't even aware of the benevolence bestowed upon her on a rainy Mission street. I was meant to see these two unique characters today. I had walked out of a previous coffee-shop in search of a slightly better one, just to observe and walk past Sir Unicycler and Madam Tranny.

Do you ever feel some things are meant to happen just so? I imagine Sir Unicycler to be a lithe and generous spirit. He belongs to a Unicycling Performance Club. He can play serious and silly ditties on his guitar whilst roaming San Francisco on his unicycle. He is dating a mature woman named Lady Roller-skater. When out on the town they unicycle and roller-skate circles around each other. A wheeling dance that begins slow and steady, forever gathering speed and tempo--until finally, as a crowd draws near, on a newly lit San Fran street, Sir Unicycler and Lady Roller-skater's wheeled dance reaches a feverish pitch of legs out, arms up-raised, hands clasped, wheels furiously spinning into the final hurdle of their epic performance. Yes, Sir Unicycler indeed has a lot to be jolly about. Strange and joyful chap that he is.

Madam Tranny is a bit more tragic. She is homeless and walking in the rain on Valencia Street. As a once famous night-club singer in the Castro, she is used to a much finer standard of living. Alas, Madam Tranny's downfall revolves around a love story gone wrong. La Belle Chat, an old 1950s night-club, was typically full of deviants up to atypically debauched acts. Madam Tranny sang for the gaudy cast of deviants five out of seven nights. It was her custom to order a tall vodka tonic and lustily belt out 'Can't teach an old dog new tricks' or 'Some like it hot!' The heat usually radiated from the stage to the darkened interior of La Belle Chat.

After many years of working thus and entertaining the underbelly of Castro, Madam Tranny met the Prince. The Prince Frog, that is. He was more of a toad, really, just between you and I. But a Prince is still royalty, even in his froggy way, and he certainly knew it.

The Prince hopped into La Belle Chat for the first time one fog-dampened night. Eyes fairly bulging, he demanded a neat scotch. Down one scotch went, followed by another two. Madam Tranny was Centerstage, propped wantonly upon the baby grand piano. Her microphone softly brushed her white moustache. 'Summertiiiime...And the livin' is eeeeasy." Madam Tranny caught every deviant's eyes and made sure to hold them for a few moments; to let them know she really meant it. As her eyes dropped onto the Prince, she was not to remove them for the next two ballads. Love ballads, mais oui.

Madam Tranny's pink satin dress rustled audibly as she made her way down from the fully-lit stage. Regular Deviants of La Belle Chat rose and came to Madam Tranny. Lips glistening and paws out-stretched predatorily, they wanted to show her their appreciation of such fine talent. The Prince remained in the shadows, watching. It was then that Madam Tranny sensed it might be serious with this one.

I hope he likes pink, she thought.