Of Cabbages and Kings

From the Greyhound bus ride to New York, some weeks ago, I present to you:
Hers and His reading materials.

Weakness like this are why I shall never be Great.


Wandering through Greenwich village one late afternoon, we passed by a delightful little bakery. My jonesing for cupcakes starting revving until I saw the line snaking around the side of the building and down the block. Back in DC, one would assume that Christopher Hitchens was autographing crucifixes inside or Bob Novak was plugging his leak. But this being New York, and a bakery, we hadn't a clue what the fuss could be about.

Passing by the line, I caught the attention of one fellow. "Sorry, what's the line for?" I asked. He shrugged. "I dunno. My wife told me to stand here." Okay. On down the line we went. Kriston grabbed another waiting near the end of the queue. "Hey, what is everybody waiting in line for?" he asked. "Not sure," came the reply. "I've never been here before."

New effing York. If it doesn't have a line outside, does it exist?

I bring all this up as an excuse to post this photo, which we took just past the bakery: