Spadina streetcar, off at U of T.

Caucasian female, early 30s, wearing black jeans, black and white sneakers, and a worn brown suede jacket, headphone cords snaking up her back out of the side pocket of an orange courier bag.

Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel (Houghton Mifflin)

About page 101:

Then one night, when I am babysitting for our neighbours downstairs, my father calls. Mommy must have told him where he could find me, which I think is a stunning display of maturity on both their parts since they can barely talk without hostility surfacing.

The jacket cost $20, bought across the border at an army surplus store. Heavy brown suede, the cuffs worn into a smooth crease from years of rolling. It zips up the front but not over her chest. It’s a man’s jacket, after all.

She adjusts the collar constantly, snapping it high even though it’ll fall limp almost immediately. It came with a receipt in the breast pocket, $5.00 of gasoline at a station one town over, and a crumpled tissue, inside a chewed up piece of gum, red, Big Red, and the filter of a Marlboro. A day’s worth of breath wrapped away.