Spadina streetcar, standing down

Caucasian woman, late 20s, died red hair tucked behind ears under a green knitted cap, wearing high cuffed jeans, a black hooded jacket and gold shoes. A tiny stud adorns her right nostril.

What We All Long For, Dionne Brand (Vintage Canada)

Page 208:

It was the face of a boy, a baby, innocent and expectant. There was something wrong about it. It didn't go with the rest of his body--something she'd suspected when photographing his back. Binh clapped. Then they turned to watch the celebration in the street and Tuyen kept clicking her camera at them until the roll ended.

From "Gregg":

Gregg noticed the dragonfly stuck between the slats of the deck. On its back, its legs kicked, its wings sputtered, delicate, fluttering like waking eyelashes. Its tail curled up in a yawn, quivering into something he’d only seen in alien video games. (So that’s where they get that shit from.) Then with an arch it crossed its arms. Gregg descended into the woods, returning with a length of branch he snapped into pieces. Securing two twigs with a reed, he wedged the cross between the deck planks adjusting it until it cast a fitting shadow. Inside, he rummaged through the kitchen cupboard, knowing he’d seen the camera with the flashlight and cement glue. Back outside, Gregg rested his chin against the deck, turning the ring until the dragonfly came into focus. The shutter snapped closed and open in an instant and Gregg felt at peace. His eye still trained on the frame, Gregg reached out to move the cross just so. The structure toppled forward, light, but heavy enough. The insect sighed.