Bloor Line, working her way around the pole as people board at Yonge.

Caucasian woman, mid 20s, with black hair pinned up, black framed glasses, wearing a long, jean skirt, jean jacket and flip flops. She stops periodically to adjust the volume on her iPod. Or is she rewinding?

War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy (Harper Perennial)

Page 301:

The little princess, like an old war-horse hearing the sound of the bugle, quite unconsciously, forgetting what an inappropriate time it was, readied herself for her customary gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or struggle, but with a naive, thoughtless gaiety.

She checks for her stop and packs the book into her bag, adjusting it on her shoulder as she snakes through the crowd toward the door. She looks up at an ad, tries to confine a giggle, lowering her head, shaking it as she lets out a soft giggle. It's my stop, too. I stand behind her on the escalator. She pulls out her iPod, once more, and hums a melody that's familiar. As I step into the sunshine it hits me and I sing:

I believe when I fall in love with you
it will be forever
I believe when I fall in love this time
it will be forever

(I Believe, Stevie Wonder)