Bob was out for a stroll on Yonge Street in downtown Toronto, camera in hand, looking for interesting scenes to photograph when something caught his eye — a line of people wrapped around the front of the EB Games store. He had to stop.
"Wait, people are still lining up for video games?" Bob said to no one in particular. “I thought kids just downloaded stuff now.”
He stood for a moment, baffled. This wasn’t 2007 — it was 2025, and yet here was a classic game-store scene from the past: a queue of excited fans, phones in hand, chatting, checking the time, and shifting foot to foot with anticipation. Some had Nintendo shirts on, and one guy had a plush Mario dangling from his backpack like it was a badge of honor.
Bob took a few photos. He hadn’t seen a lineup like this since the midnight release of Halo 3. Back then, Bob had no idea what the fuss was about, but he loved the energy. This had the same feel — not just a transaction, but a ritual.
He noticed the EB Games sign now had a little maple leaf on it. A touch of Canada clinging to the franchise as it faded from most streets. He remembered when there were EB Games in every mall. Now, this one on Yonge stood as a kind of nostalgic holdout — a beacon for people who still loved the physical copy, the midnight launch, the bonus poster, or maybe just the shared excitement.
On his walk back, Bob passed the Popeyes next door, also with a line — but that made more sense. At least with chicken you couldn’t download it.
Back at home, he posted the photos with the caption:
"Bob thought people downloaded their games now. Apparently, some things are still worth lining up for."
Sometimes the street surprises you — even with pixels and cartridges.
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