Yonge Line on a Saturday night, heading home after ducking out early.

Black man wearing a grey hoodie under a long all-weather coat. He holds his backpack on his lap, reading around it like it's a cat looking for affection. He bites his lower lip and bares a slight scowl.

Let It Bleed, Ian Rankin (McArthur & Company)

Page 169:

"...so he was at SOHHD until the LECs came along. The SDA and HIDB became SE and HIE and the poor man, who'd been responsible for RDGs and RSH found himself--"

"Keep going, you might just drift back into English."

He keeps his head low. Making his way slowly, hoping he doesn't get called on. She's read his work. She knows. She remembers.

Some timesth ewords jus tdon'tse emright.
Sum tymez tha werdz jus dun seem rite.
Sometimesthewordsjustdon'tseemright.

Bu tyouk eepp lugg ingany how.
Bat u keep ploggin aneehow.
Butyoukeepplugginganyhow.