“What can I get you, man?”

There was something Simon liked about the sausage booth man instantly. Maybe it was the earnestness with which he asked, “What can I get you, man?” like he really actually wanted to know. Or maybe it was just, at last, that it was a temperate, mild-humidity day in New York and Simon had just exchanged glances with a hot guy wearing high-heels on the High Line before landing here, in line at the sausage booth.

Simon licked his lips. “You can get me a currywurst, big boy.”

The man frowned a bit and then nodded and turned to get to work. Simon hoped he hadn’t insulted the man’s weight – in various parts of his world, big bearded men were considered a delicacy. Though not when they had grease stains on their white shirts. Ew. Someone needs to try dressing darker colors.

The sausage man hesitated and then turned around again. “Do you want bread with that?”

“No, I’m on keto.”

Sausage man squinted through his wireframe glasses. “Ohh. Keto, right right. Cool, man.” He started to turn again and then looked at the to-go cup in Simon’s hand. “What you got there?”

Simon followed the Man’s gaze down to his hand “Oh just a coffee.”

“Cappuccino?”

“No, just, like, a drip coffee.”

“Got it.” The man turned and went back to work.

Simon checked his phone. Client email (boring), boss email (boringer), Grindr match (ugly), other Grindr match (boring—hold on, wait…cute!). Just as Simon typed the first letter of his message, Sausage Man said something like, “Hour-house.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man turned around again. “Sauerkraut?”

“Oh yes please.”

“Onions.”

“Yes yes yes.”

“Ok.” He went back to work.

Simon began to type, “Hey sweetcheeks, how about I rub lotion all over that—“

“Oh, top or bottom?”