You wake up on the last Sunday in June and it's ten already. Dykes on Bikes are at eleven o'clock sharp (ha!). BART is mobbed, and I-80's worse. If you leave this late, your view of the Gay Freedom Day parade will be the shoulder blades of that seven-foot-tall bozo in front of you. Do you bite the bullet and drag yourself across the Big Bad Bridge anyway? Hell no, you head on over to Animal Farm and watch the show on their thirteen-incher. G'wan, everybody does it, and they don't feel guilty either. All right, we admit nobody needs to accessorize their cat, dog, or ferret on that very day, but it's more fun to watch the parade with a crowd that knows how to dish. The TV (surrounded year-round by rainbow flags to stay in shape) is mounted atop a display case near the checkout counter, so unruly TV fans spill into the paying customers. But nobody's in a hurry to check out, 'cause there's always the next float to marvel at: "Honey, where'd she get those shoes?"