Waiting in line

Without a nod or examination, I plunked myself behind the last person in line. An Asian no less. Then I prepared myself for the long wait. I don’t look up anymore to watch the personalities in line.

A boy follows behind me and knowledgably goes outside the escalator.

It has always been uncomfortable surrounded by the city’s freebie go-getters and legitimate movie critics. I hear aimless conversations from someone who has never been here before. “Wow, thanks for inviting me!” he exclaims.

“Yeah, I always get here two hours early,” a voice echoes experience.

We are prepared for the long haul.

30 minutes pass. 60 minutes.

A lanky man walks around the line. “Miss, please move forward,” he says to me. “We need to get to keep the pathways clear.”

I nod and scoot forward with my laptop in my lap. The lanky man stares at the people and announces, “In five to ten minutes, I will start numbering.”

The line nods, understanding and he leaves. A box of pizza arrives. Another girl arrives and squeezes herself into the group in front of me.

Children drag chairs across the worn carpet to their spot in line, hitting Chris’ shin. He stares at them as he yelps in pain. The children don’t notice and neither does their mother. The moment passes and he rubs his shin.

Then the people in the line stand. I sense the shifting and close my laptop, thrusting it quickly into my bag. I check my phone and set it to vibrate. I pat my pockets and check my bag. Then I stand and follow the snaking line, slowly as one by one we get access into the movie theater.

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