Spadina streetcar, rumbling home through the fish markets

Caucasian male, early 40s, short and stalky with bright blue eyes, wearing a grey jacket, black scarf and green cargo pants. His specs are round, sitting on a pointed nose straight out of one of Simon's chalk drawings.

By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept, Elizabeth Smart (HarperCollins)

Page 41:

But the noise of my inside seas, the dazzle of this cataclysmic birth of love in me, cannot hear clearly what he says. To make a response is like rousing a heavy sleeper who longs to remain asleep. I smile, but I am in a trance, there is no reality but love.

Tyler ran up the ropes to the Six Spin urging Gregg to hurry. When Gregg got to the gate he froze at the sight of the girl taking tickets, a seasonal employee who changed her look each summer. Brigitte was tall for a girl, at least six foot. She had on the requisite carnival uniform, blue polo shirt and crème-coloured shorts; but, while other attendants wore white sneakers with tennis socks, she wore high-laced black boots with steel toes. The commitment to her blue baseball cap was half-assed, the hat sitting on the edge of her razor-cut black bob.

Gregg hiked his brother's hand-me-down cut offs and started up the aisle. He handed Brigitte his tickets, staring up into her face, enamoured by the thick make-up outlining her eyes straight up to her temples. In place of hoop earrings, she wore safety pins, one through a ragged hole that looked infected.

She was, in a word, stunning.

Keep Toronto Reading. February 1-28, 2007