(Originally published December 12, 2007)

Bloor Line, rolling the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

Caucasian woman, late 40s, with long brown hair–straightened; long, wool coat–twined; and, dark eye shadow–plummed.

I Know This Much Is True, Wally Lamb (HarperCollins)

Page 131:

When Patty dropped me off at my house, she said she thought she loved me. I thanked her for the ice cream and told her I’d call her the next day–a promise I doubted I’d deliver on, even as I was making it.

The time of year. Walnut chews and shortbread layered inside tins lined with wax paper. Bowls of red and green jelly beans and brightly wrapped chocolates, their contents listed on accordian foldouts. A metallic gold foiled caramel had been her selection, two more pocketed for the ride home. Now, she jabs her tongue at the bulge in her cheek like she’s trying to knock dents out of her fender.

Spadina streetcar at Sussex Ave.

Caucasian woman, late 30s, with curly brown hair, wearing glasses, tan winter coat, and blue scarf.

The Winter of Our Discontent, John Steinbeck (Penguin)

Page 246:

A few days before, I snicked my forefinger with the curved banana knife at the store, and a callusy scab toughened the ball of my fingertip. And so I stroked the lovely line from ear to shoulder with my second finger but gently enough not to startle and firmly enough not to tickle. She sighed as she always does, a deep, gathered breath and a low release of luxury. Some people resent awakening, but not Mary. She comes to a day with expectancy that it will be good.

Two months into their new living arrangement, she and her girlfriend are still committed to the long term. Their work schedules don’t mesh, but they manage to make time for one another. Both sets of parents find the match agreeable, and have wasted not a minute placing their bids on who will spend Christmas with whom. Things seem to have fallen precisely into place. She rubs her eyes, and adjusts her glasses. They will, however, have to invest in a relationship counselor sooner than later if they can’t, between the two of them, arrive at an amicable conclusion about the snooze button.

Official site for Stacey May Fowles

Danforth Starbucks patio

Caucasian male, 60s, with close cropped white hair, wearing black leather jacket, and red, white and black skull cap. He smokes a pipe.

Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov (Vintage)

Near the end:

The road now stretched across open country, and it occurred to me — not by way of protest, not as a symbol, or anything like that, but merely as a novel experience — that since I had disregarded all laws of humanity, I might as well disregard the rules of traffic. So I crossed to the left side of the highway and checked the feeling, and the feeling was good.

He often drives Trevor home in time for curfew. Trevor is 15 and wants to be a clothing designer. Minors are allowed in the bar so long as they don’t drink. What they do in the parking lot is their own business. He considers himself Trevor’s life coach, helping the boy, the young man — less than a year until full maturity, really — navigate these first few months out of the closet. Trevor has met someone. He’s 25 and owns his own car. His roommate is out of town next weekend. He drops Trevor a block from his house and considers calling the cops.