trans day of liberation

On the wooden-planked porch of an Ostrom Avenue home, a small group of students blows puffs of cigarette smoke into the freezing air, their happy banter bringing the otherwise silent street to life. In the huddle of knit beanies, worn jeans and black and khaki-colored coats stands Mateo Diaz, 21, house resident and the night’s host. He emerges from a dissipating cloud — dressed in his own black beanie, flannel-lined denim jacket, black jeans and black leather combat boots — and heads down the porch’s stairs, directing party-ready guests toward the back door.