Yonge Line, backpack zipper wide open.

White male, early 30s, with generic black and blue baseball cap pulled down low of his slick short hair. He's adopted his winter weather beard, about a week beyond purposefully shaggy, en route to bushy, whether he trims or tidies completely up in the air.

Shelf Monkey, Corey Redekop (ECW Press)

About page 161:

It was like someone edited ten seconds of a film, Page's slap was so quick, jump-cutting from Aubrey's retort to Aubrey lying on the floor, the crack! of her palm off his face a sonic explosion that echoed through the store. Page pointed a finger at him, then at me. I flinched in anticipation of another attack, fearfully squeezing a drop of urine into my shorts.

He'd had four G&Ts, not enough that he wouldn't be able to defend his friend, but enough that he feared he wouldn't land a punch leaving him in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by a mob of patrons who didn't appreciate their skinny jeans and zipped up hoodies, their bold-faced denial of tonight's Women Only dance not quite the "sure thing" they'd hoped for.