Leo, a trans man in his twenties, sat at the end of the bar, nursing a soda. He was the youngest person there by forty years. Across from him sat Miss Regina, a Black trans elder who wore her sequins like armor. She was the unofficial historian of a neighborhood that was quickly being replaced by glass-fronted coffee shops and luxury lofts.

Looking at the transgender community and broader LGBTQ culture often means looking at the intersection of "found family," the fight for authenticity, and the preservation of history.

"This is LGBTQ culture," she whispered. "It’s not just the parades and the brand deals. It’s the way we took care of each other when the hospitals wouldn't. It’s the 'House' mothers who took in the runaways. It’s the slang we invented just so we could talk to each other in public without being caught."

Regina’s laughter was like gravel and silk. "That’s the trick they play on you, Leo. They want you to think you’re the first one to ever feel this way. If you think you’re the first, you’re alone. If you know you’re part of a lineage, you’re an army."