The line stretches almost around the block. There’s a girl, black hair pulled back in a pony tail, with a Spalding basketball nestled between her arm and torso. A man with an afro squints forward, his eyes panning through the line ahead of him before reaching down with a finger to clean a sliver of dirt off his Jordans and adjusting a device on his ankle. Towards the back, a man dressed in rags is telling anyone that’ll listen that he could once grab a quarter off the top of the backboard.
“Oh yeah?” two short guys, one black and one white, approach him. “Wanna put money on that?”
Not all of them will make it. Not all of them will be chosen.
“Alright everyone listen up!” someone at the very front calls out through two cuffed hands. “A few rules to go over. First, we plan on making this a fair tournament so no one playing themselves can be in it.” The man at the front shoots a look at a group of guys leaning against the fence just a few yards away, all of them letting out sighs of disgust, throwing their hands in the air. One man – bald and wearing black, patent leather sneakers – stares for a moment before shuffling away, a mob of fans behind him.
“Second, you have to be huma…”
Before he can even finishing saying human, a golden dog, panting from the heat, turns and walks away. Others follow. By this point, the line has dwindled significantly.
“And finally, you need to have starred in a movie,” the man calls. “Not cameos. Not stand-ins. Not as a background performer. It needs to be a legit role.” With that, the line shrinks some more until finally, there are only about 20 people left.