Yonge Line, surrounded by a musty odour.

Caucasian woman, early 20s, maybe late teens, very petite, under 5', with long blonde hair under a multi-coloured striped hat with pom pom, wearing a red vest and purple scarf. She has a tiny stud in her left nostril and wears a leather cuff on her right wrist. Her fingernails are each a different colour and I wonder if she watches Dexter. I shake off the vision, turning my focus to the young woman occupying the next row of seats. So that's where the smell is coming from.

Shopaholic & Sister, Sophie Kinsella (Dell)

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At last I select some black leggings with retro piping up the sides, plus a white T-shirt and my fab hi-tech trainers that I got in the states. They cost quite a lot, but then, as the leaflets point out, they are biomechanically balanced with a dual-density mid sole.

With her head down she just looks like any other girl, a little tired, on her way home from a long day. Her part is a bit greasy, the ends of her hair split and frizzy. Her complexion seems healthy but when she lifts her gaze you can see she's exhausted and ill. The bags under her eyes are swollen; the whites of her eyes are jaundice. The Rottweiler at her foot wears its obligatory muzzle. The girl leans over and grabs the dog's snout, wrestles it a bit, as if to assure the other passengers that she knows the law. The dog looks at her with sad eyes; not knowing what she did wrong this time. She strains her neck a second longer then places her head back on the subway car floor. A juice box sits close by and she extends her tongue for a quick taste.

The girl's parka is unzipped low. It doesn't appear that she's wearing much underneath. Two newborn Rottweilers nuzzle her cleavage. She talks to them. Coos. Scolds. Occasionally she flashes a gritty smile as new passengers board at each station. On the chair beside her sits a rumpled take out bag from McDonald's. Beside that a Starbucks napkin. Beside that a Tim Horton's cup. She's been riding the subway all day, trying to keep her babies warm, trying to get them to a home before nightfall. The mother sits up and digs into the girl's coat, licking the pups in long strokes. The girl pats her head and tosses another smile to us. Our eyes meet. I do something with my face; I'm not sure what; a grin, I hope. But I'm fearful that I've betrayed pity. I have my headphones on. She mouths something.