Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Spadina streetcar and the flash of recall.

Caucasian woman, early 40s, wearing a pink linen shirt and white capris. Her hair is wet, pulled back in a low ponytail. Her glasses start to slip down her nose and she reaches around the pole, using the snuff of her hand to right them. Suddenly, she looks up, startled, and utters a curse, biting her lip.

Prior Bad Acts, Tami Hoag (Bantam)

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This wasn't personal. He had no anger toward this woman, no real desire to kill her. But he couldn't have her calling the police.

She runs through the weather report. Not too hot. No rain. Shade under the tree. Bowl should be full. There will be words from the neighbour. He'll whine. Does this mean she's left the back door unlocked, too? She imagines a phone call. He presses his paw on speaker phone and she tells him she's sorry. She'll be home as soon after work as possible. He'll get treats, lots of treats. Then he hangs up and slobbers on the receiver, lumbering across the yard toward a squirrel running up a tree trunk.

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