Empire Theatres lobby — New Minas, NS

Black woman, young 30s, hair pulled tight into bun, wearing dark grey short-sleeved blouse shot through with silver threads, comfortable worn jeans, and no-nonsense shoes.

Dreams of My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance, Barack Obama (Three Rivers Press)

Pg. 377:

I looked at Granny, and she nodded at me, and I knew then that at some point the joy I was feeling would pass and that that, too, was part of the circle: the fact that my life was neither tidy nor static, and that even after this trip, hard choices would always remain.

This new Uhura had better be right. She’d seen the actress in an interview on the Space channel-the young, pretty girl was explaining that she’d never watched any of the original episodes of Star Trek. Didn’t she know that Nichelle Nichols was Uhura? When Nichols had thought of quitting the show, Dr. King had told her to keep on with it. Nichols had been reading the book, Black Uhuru at the casting call. Mr. Roddenberry had noticed. Nichols got the part and her character was given a new name. In Swahili, uhuru means “freedom.”

- Ami McKay

(Originally published January 29, 2008)

Bloor Line, slouched in the corner

East African male, mid 20s, wearing black leather jacket, black cap, red glasses, and slick lip gloss.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, Max Brooks (Three Rivers Press)

Halfway through:

The name, Avalon, comes from some stock footage one of the students had shot during the siege. It was the night before their last, worst attack, when a fresh horde from the east was clearly visible on the horizon. The kids were hard at work — sharpening weapons, reinforcing defenses, standing guard on the walls and towers. A song came floating across the campus from the loudspeaker that played constant music to keep morale up. A Scripps student, with a voice like an angel, was singing the Roxy Music song. It was such a beautiful rendition, and such a contrast with the raging storm about to hit. I laid it over my “preparing for battle” montage. I still get choked up when I hear it.

He was thirteen, stretched out in the basement watching television. The window was propped open, the screen in place to deter curious cats from poking in their heads. The sound of feet passing by didn’t startle him. It was dark and all the street noises had become one — ball hockey out front, a car radio two houses down. Besides, the gate was locked. If someone was in the backyard, it would mean they’d scaled the fence, pausing beneath the window where his mother slept.

That was the night he learned to believe in monsters.