The huddled masses wait in line. The huddles masses refuse to cover their legs with anything else but sparkles and moisturizer (for the ladies) and khakis (gents/any ladies who wear khakis). They wait patiently or not patiently or with bummed cigarettes for the hope that their ears will soon be draped in the sounds of Katy Perry or Robyn-pop stars with delicately placed y’s and modern haircolors. Those on this line have chosen to gamble for the promise of a great night, a “great” that includes a pantheon of options which may also end in falling in the subway tracks or text message crying. However, perhaps they will find somebody to bring home tonight, somebody whose criminal record they are not aware of. This is the largest square in the velvet quilt of Friday joys.