Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Toronto-Quebec Corridor, heading to Montreal.

Caucasian woman, late 20s, with short stylish short brown hair, wearing grey sweater, large black sunglasses, dark blue jeans, and black ankle high hiking boots. She sits in the aisle seat, her new bag occupying the window seat so no one will sit beside her.

One Last Scream, Kevin O'Brien (Pinnacle - Kensington)

p. 17

A few people had staggered out to the small backyard where Amelia stood with a beer in one hand, and the other clutching together the edges of her bulky cardigan sweater. She gazed up at the stars. It was a beautiful, crisp October night. She had a little buzz.
Her preference is to drive. Correction. Her preference is to be driven. But approximately 30 minutes into the trip she'll stand to stretch her legs, walking the length of the train car to the washroom, through to the beverage car, and back to her empty seat where she'll pause, bend over to look out the window, and marvel that she accomplished so much without losing any travel time. When she sits, the worn seat cushion will only bother her mildly, enough to merit an email but not a full refund.

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