The line stretched around the block.
He usually walked by. In New York, you could never tell whether a line was for the latest impossible reservation, some collaboration between a DJ and an empanada shop, or a B-list celebrity's brand manager trying to drum up hype for a new product launch.
As he passed, though, he saw a girl.
Five-six. Dirty blonde hair. A few freckles.
New York is littered with beautiful people, but he found himself drawn to her. He stopped for a moment, then got in line.
She was three people ahead of him, reading a book she wasn't actually reading. He knew because she had not turned the page in twelve minutes.
"Let's get out of here. It can't be worth the hype," the group between them said before departing.
He was usually on the shy side, but that day he felt a little more courageous. Maybe it was the glow of the New York summer sun. Maybe it was confidence borrowed from the few pages of Kerouac he had that morning.
Whatever it was, it was enough.
"What happens?" he asked.
She looked up. "In the book?"
He nodded.
"It's a little love story. Hasn't quite grabbed me, though."
"What's the deal with this line?"
"Just some new yogurt shop but this time it's from Greece... But let's be real. We get yogurt, eventually. Then we die."
He liked her immediately.
They moved forward by half a storefront.
She was going to get plain tart with strawberries. He told her plain tart was what people ordered when they wanted dessert but also wanted credit for restraint. She didn't disagree. He just wanted gummy bears on his.
By the time they reached the door, they knew where the other had grown up, which subway lines they avoided, and that neither believed people who claimed to enjoy running.
Four people from the window, the machine broke. A teenager in a blue bandana told them it would be twenty minutes.
Almost everyone left.
They stayed.
They sat on the curb and watched the West Village flow past them. Everyone looked so different that, together, they blended into a mosaic.
"You know," she said, "there are six other frozen yogurt places within ten blocks."
"I know."
"Some of them probably work."
"Probably."
Neither moved.
They went back the following Thursday. This time, there was no line at all.
"It's just a Pinkberry?"
"It's literally just Pinkberry."
They smiled and continued through the Village.
A few blocks later, they found another line spilling onto the sidewalk.
"What do you think that one's for?" she asked.
"Seems only fitting to wait and see. Sometimes it's actually worth it."
He reached for her hand and smiled. They got in line.