Southbound, Spadina and Dundas — Toronto, ON

Caucasian male, early 30s, with shaggy blonde hair, wearing black-framed glasses, white, collared dress shirt, and light grey dress pants.

Happiness, Will Ferguson (Penguin)

Page 205:

Even Edwin was sorry to see him go. “Nigel, listen. About the incident with the necktie and the pencil sharpener —”

Nigel held up his palm in a small fluid motion, like a Buddhist monk preparing to stop traffic, and said with a soothing voice: “Yesterday’s weather, Edwin. Do not worry about the necktie. There is no need to apologize.”

“Apologize?” said Edwin. “You still owe me 140 bucks. Isn’t that right, Mr. Mead?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Mead. “You’re right. Nigel still owes you for that. Not to worry, Edwin, I’ll make sure that amount is deducted from Nigel’s paycheque — from Nigel’s final paycheque.”

The warm olives arrive and he’s surprised by how many of them there are. He glances peripherally at the waitress, and picks through the olives, gingerly plucking one that looks particularly, safely, tender, and pops it into his mouth, the skin falling free of the pit in one bite. He instinctively grips the bass of his pint glass for comfort, as if reaching for his girlfriend’s hand each night as they fall asleep. The waitress places the rest of the starters between them, nothing that doesn’t require the question, do I use a fork, or not? He grabs another olive, his fingers clumsy in the oil, and manages to palm it into his mouth. This one is tougher. He grinds the flesh in his front teeth while the man sitting across from him pours the last of his wine into the fresh glass that’s just arrived, passing the empty glass to the waitress who waits. He takes a long sip off the top of the glass, and continues. “I’m really happy to hear this. I was going to tell you to leave a month ago. Truly.” He plucks a fritter from the basket, dipping it into the sauce, biting, then dipping again. “Honestly, it’s high time you put you first, son. You’ve worked hard.”

He drops the pit onto his side plate, his hand falling palm up on the table. Relief. He isn’t just putting himself first; he’s putting his best foot forward.

Spadina streetcar, northbound

Caucasian male, mid 30s, with short brown hair, wearing grey suit, and white shirt undone a few buttons.

Buying Cigarettes for the Dog, Stuart Ross (Freehand Books)

Page 154:

Archie looked up at the beautiful green canopy that awaited him. He could make out a perfect cradle of branches, and he couldn’t wait to curl up in those loving arms. Love had never been a big part of Archie’s life, and he was willing to take it wherever he could find it.

His twin remained in their hometown where he was the managing editor for a fishing and game magazine. He also hosted a weekly cable show in which he took rubberneckers into the woods to see if they could last the night with only the barest of neccessities. While his brother was comfortable with nature, withholding, and uncertainty, he couldn’t imagine stepping off concrete if it meant he’d lose his path to sushi, Korean walnut cakes, and the many varied creature comforts he preferred to survive.

Northbound, Spadina streetcar

Caucasian woman, late 20s, with long blonde hair, wearing brown hooded sweater, grey scarf, and black jeans.

The Time Machine, H. G. Wells (Phoenix Pick)

Page 97:

Upon the hill-side were some thirty or forty Morlocks, dazzled by the light and heat, and blundering hither and thither against each other in their bewilderment. At first I did not realize their blindness, and struck furiously at them with my bar, in a frenzy of fear, as they approached me, killing one and crippling several more. But when I had watched the gestures of one of them groping under the hawthorn against the red sky, and heard their moans, I was assured of their absolute helplessness and misery in the glare, and I struck no more of them.

Four-years-old, she sat on the edge of the tarmac, transferring stalks of unwashed rhubarb back and forth between a large stainless steel bowl of water and another filled with white sugar, while her brother burned ants through a magnifying glass with the quiet contemplation she’d only seen on her mother’s face when cutting coupons, or painting her toe nails.

Northbound, Spadina streetcar

Asian male, mid 20s, wearing black zipped jacket, faded black jeans, and brown boots.

When Germs Travel, Howard Markel (Vintage Books)

Page 8:

Medical historians often study how responses to disease are socially constructed or shaped by nonbiological factors. We attempt to gather as much data as possible about a particular era’s social institutions, cultural perceptions, daily activities, and other variables to re-create a complete sense of the past. But such an approach often overlooks the patient’s actual experience with illness. Disease is socially constructed until you happen to find yourself in bed with one.

The woman in the cubicle next to him is a blonde. Her hair is long, and shiny, and never out of place. Her face is rotund. She takes long weekends. He’s turned to ask a few times, all but out of seat, then thinks better of it. Perhaps an email would be more work appropriate. Maybe a card. Not that long ago, she was a brunette, with short hair, and fine features, who showed up early, and stayed late.

Spadina streetcar platform

South Asian woman, early 30s, with chin length black bob, wearing tweed pageboy cap, grey turtleneck sweater, and green knit scarf.

When You Are Engulfed in Flames, David Sedaris (Little, Brown)

Page 55:

And so it was. But that didn’t stop me from wearing it. Though pear-shaped, my artificial bottom was not without its charms. It afforded me a confidence I hadn’t felt in years and gave me an excuse to buy flattering slacks and waist length jackets. While walking to the grocery store or post office, I’d invariably find myself passed by a stranger who’d clearly thought he was following somebody else: Little Miss January, or Pamela Anderson’s stunt double.

The fit mistress put her at ease in an instant. She barely blinked, measuring her like a tailor, not a mention of the scarring.

***
20 poets for $8.00? It’s true!

Visit Authors at Harbourfront Centre to purchase tickets!

Open Stage Night

TONIGHT, 7:30pm, Brigantine Room

Line up for this lineup!

Oana Avasilichioaei
Catherine Black
Clara Blackwood
Kyle Buckley
Dani Couture
Asher Ghaffar
Jason Guriel
Jennica Harper
Angela Hibbs
Ryan Kamstra
Jp King
Michael Knox
Jacob McArthur Mooney
Alison Pick
Alessandro Porco
Johanna Skibsrud
Meaghan Strimas
Angela Szczepaniak
Natalie Zina Walschots
Zoe Whittall

Southbound, Spadina streetcar

Caucasian male, early 40s, with short grey hair and beard, wearing glasses, blue collared shirt under black fleece, and carrying a leather book bag.

Helpless, Barbara Gowdy (Harper Perennial)

Page 199:

He sits at his desk and presses a hand to his throbbing temple. He thinks, nothing prepares you for loving a child. Even when you know that you love her, you still may not have any idea how much because the feeling is so ordinary and instinctive, like a love for life or truth.

He and his wife decided together that they would not have children, a decision they continued to feel good about as the cat pawed at the powdery pink tip of the negative pregnancy stick.

***
20 poets for $8.00? It’s true!

Visit Authors at Harbourfront Centre to purchase tickets!

Open Stage Night

Wednesday, March 25, 7:30pm, Brigantine Room

Line up for this lineup!

Oana Avasilichioaei
Catherine Black
Clara Blackwood
Kyle Buckley
Dani Couture
Asher Ghaffar
Jason Guriel
Jennica Harper
Angela Hibbs
Ryan Kamstra
Jp King
Michael Knox
Jacob McArthur Mooney
Alison Pick
Alessandro Porco
Johanna Skibsrud
Meaghan Strimas
Angela Szczepaniak
Natalie Zina Walschots
Zoe Whittall

Spadina streetcar platform

Caucasian woman, mid 20s, with wet, long brown hair pushed back by glasses, wearing long brown coat, and small leather backpack.

The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell (Anchor)

Page 20:

There is something magical about films. The person you are looking at is also somewhere else at the same time. That is the condition of a god. If a movie actor comes into the theater, everybody turns and looks at the movie actor. He is the real hero of the occasion. He is on another plane. He is a multiple presence. What you are seeing on the screen really isn’t he, and yet the ‘he’ comes.

If she didn’t answer her phone, he’d worry she’d fallen asleep in the tub, and skip out of work to check in on her. If she did answer her phone, he’d hear the noise and know. The phone continued to pulse and glow against the sticky table top, a fresh beer released from a stranger’s fingers into hers.

***

Enter the CBC Book Club contest!
Winner receives signed copies of this year’s Canada Reads contenders, plus a tote bag!
Follow along for details @seenreading.

Southbound, Spadina and College

Caucasian woman, mid 20s, with blonde hair clipped up, wearing red pea coat, white leather purse, and grey UGGs.

Total Control, David Baldacci (Vision)

Page 130:

At the end of the road, a police cruiser was parked near a rusted, leaning mailbox. To the right of the mailbox was a dirt road that snaked its way back, with full, well-tended evergreen hedges bordering the dirt road on either side. In the distance the earth seemed to glow like a huge phosphorous cave. She had found the place.

When had she abandoned her dream to become a rural mail carrier? To drive on the shoulder, on the wrong side, backing up against the flow of traffic. She thought it looked as fun as the clown cars at the circus, or the annual Shriners Parade. And every package would come with wrapped candy.

Northbound, Spadina and Queen

Caucasian woman, late 20s, with long brown hair, wearing black coat, orange scarf, red knit cap, and carrying a large canvas book bag.

The Botany of Desire: A Plant’s-Eye View of the World, Michael Pollan (Random House)

Page 114:

Yet it turns out that it is some of the bitter, bad plants that contain the most powerful magic — that can answer our desire and alter the textures and even the contents of our consciousness. There it is, right in the middle of the word intoxication, hidden in plain sight: toxic. The bright line between food and poison might hold, but not one between poison and desire.

She idled, hands at 10 and 2, and loosened her grip on the wheel, skin stretched tight in a mountainous ridge across the top of her knuckles. She pried two pieces of gum free from the foil pack, and popped one into her mouth, the other fumbled by the gas pedal. She undid her seatbelt and reached out toward the mat, her foot off the brake, retrieving the second piece of gum with less effort than it takes to drink and drive.

(Originally published July 24, 2007)

Spadina streetcar

Caucasian male, mid 30s, with full beard, wearing black dress pants, blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled to elbows), and scuffed leather shoes. He pulls methodically at his moustache like the hair of a Crissy Doll.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon (Picador)

Page 72:

Sammy performed the rapid series of operations — which combined the elements of the folding of wet laundry, the shoveling of damp ashes, and the swallowing of a secret map on the point of capture by emerging troops — that passed, in his mother’s kitchen, for eating.

Her job was to wait below, terry cloth shorts bunched between her chubby legs, while he climbed the television tower. She kept a look out for adults, older siblings, or anyone, really, with sense enough to call his parents. He would be quick. By his rules of the game, only once up and down constituted a closed case. Then they could retreat to the basement, the young boy and his neighbour, lie on the couch together, still, “getting the girl” his reward for another mystery solved.