Standing out of line at Spadina, waiting for Union Station

Caucasian woman, early 30s, with long blonde hair tied into pigtails, wearing a bright green puffy jacket, blue scarf and tweed pants rolled high atop her black boots. She carries a Mountain Equipment Co-op computer backpack with an "Art Matters" button pinned to the strap.

The Penelopiad, Margaret Atwood (Knopf Canada)

Page 40:

We ate with our hands in those days. There was a lot of gnawing and some heavy-duty chewing, but it was better that way--no sharp utensils that could be snatched up and plunged into a fellow guest who might have annoyed you.

The pungent odour of fall forest life worked its way up the lane to where they hid. The sun was low in the sky. They wrapped scarves knit of Irish wool tight around their necks and huddled together on the flat rock, legs crossed tight, under a fleece, warm breath bathing their cheeks like a late summer breeze. The stream splashed, the current moving swiftly. The reflection of wilting trees danced across the water. Their shoulders relaxed; their hipbones turned foward. Their bodies gave in to the lullaby of the leaves rustling overhead. She rested her arm over her lover's waist, her other hand reaching for dangling fingers. Entwined they slipped into a slumber, their car settling into its creaky chassis.

Lunch, an exercise in cutting salami, rustic bread and old cheddar with only plastic spoons from a coffee shop, hardened inside disposable napkins.

Keep Toronto Reading. February 1-28, 2007.