Spadina streetcar, weeble wobble on high heels.

White woman, mid 30s, with long blonde hair twirled into a loose braid slung over her shoulder. She teeters on approach of each stop, again when leaving. The people beside her toss impatient glances, the sleeves of her puffy white jacket wheezing against their backs and elbows. They adjust and adjust some more. She stares forward, book held to her nose, confident with her balance.

The Bourne Ultimatum, Robert Ludlum (Bantam Books)

Page 137:

He stood by the window peering inside, his face at the edge of the glass. The huge, overweight master sergeant was sitting in a large leather armchair, his feet on an ottoman, watching television.

She's fallen into habit, eating cereal for dinner. Yesterday, it was Shreddies, the corner of a bone dry square choking her momentarily, her composure solid enough that she managed to get the bowl to the coffee table without spilling. Am I really prioritizing the carpet? she thought. And she wishes she'd stop wasting last consciousness on the ratio of milk to cereal but if she knows this one thing, she knows that she can't eat them soggy.