How I Live Now, by Meg Rosoff (@RandomHouseCa) #seenreadingTO

Eastbound, Queen and Laing

Asian female, 40s, with short black hair, wearing long tan coat, tweed cap and Hunter wellies.

How I Live Now, by Meg Rosoff (Random House)

Page 23:

She told me things I never knew like her sister was all set to go to university to study history when she fell in love with my father and decided not to go after all, which made their father furious. When she went away to live in America hardly any of the family was speaking to her. Then from the top of her desk Aunt Penn took down a framed picture of two young women looking almost the same, one of them laughing and one looking serious and holding on to the neck of a huge wild-looking gray dog Aunt Penn said was called Lady, as a joke because she had no manners at all, but look how your mother adored her. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of my mother at home, but almost always with my father and not a single one taken before he knew her, so this was strange because she looked so different, happy and young like someone you’ve known in another life. Aunt Penn said I could keep the photograph but I said No thank you because it seemed to belong to that desk and that room, and I didn’t want to drag it away to a foreign place.

The Zamboni circled the ice rink, starting at the outer edges, working its way closer to the centre, erasing the grooves left during the first period of open skate. She sat in the change room hugging a Styrofoam cup of vending machine hot chocolate, a square of sponge toffee balanced on her knee. The boy beside her fanned through a stack of hockey cards, showing them off to the other grade four students, tapping them carefully into a tidy block he wrapped in two thick elastic bands. He dropped the lot into the base of his boot, the pack bouncing gently before settling into the heel. He toed his way to the boards, first on the ice before the Zamboni had parked itself in the belly of the building, a smattering of applause fading into a new mix of 70s top hits. She peered into the boot, a full set of Ninja cards, and Welcome Back, Kotter, too, waiting at home, coated in a sheet of petrified bubble gum dust, no perceived value in the trade market that she knew of. She shuffled down the bench placing her feet into the boots of her classmate, signaling to their teacher a sudden need to use the washroom.

The Waterproof Bible, Andrew Kaufman (Random House Canada)

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Westbound streetcar, Queen and Church—Toronto, ON

Caucasian woman, mid 30s, with long blond hair, wearing black, floor-length wool coat and grey knit hat with two large wooden buttons on the side.

The Waterproof Bible, Andrew Kaufman (Random House Canada)

Page 75:

Aby drove as fast as she could. Her eyes looked everywhere and at everything. She looked for water on the sidewalks, between parked cars and in third-storey windows. Then, from two blocks away, just as she became desperate enough to try anything, she saw a sign she recognized. The letters "E" and "Z" were in white, set against an orange background. It was the logo from a key chain . . .

Champagne and orange juice, the gateway cocktail, she thought as the new office admin hurried about the kitchenette, everyone on their second round of mimosas. She sipped hers gingerly, politely, yet firmly, rejecting his offer of a top up. How old was he, anyhow—12? Should he even be handling alcohol? She chuckled at the thought of a child being fired on Christmas Eve then struck the thought from her mind, childish enough herself to give into a fear that she might not get was she asked for this Christmas. The boy was once again fully a man and qualified for the position, not just the over-educated, under-employed son of their boss's former college buddy.

She looked at the clock and back-timed how long she'd have to endure small talk with virtual strangers until her holiday could officially begin. Three hours. Christ Almighty. I mean, shit, she corrected.

While she had no aversion to drinking at 10 a.m. in the morning, she'd already had a few nips of vodka in her coffee, a mid-December tradition she resolved to quit in time for the new year. Most of the co-workers she actually liked—who actually liked her—had booked off early, leaving her to suffer through Secret Santa with the knowledge that of the four remaining staff members at least two seemed to genuinely loathe her, and one, well, at least they can look each other in the eye again after that incident on Facebook.

The office admin dangled a small gift bag in front of her face, the gift tag left blank. "There was a mix up with the names," at admin whispered. "We didn't want you to go home empty-handed," he smiled. His teeth are the colour of first snow, she thought, folding her lips into a flat grin. "Thank you. Merry Christmas. Do you have plans for the holi—" she began to say as he pounded the rest of his drink and headed back to the counter for more.

As the others tore into their gifts, she pulled a tiny gorilla key chain from the bag, fumbling a wad of tissue paper to the floor. She pressed a button on the gorilla's belly, a fond and far memory rushing to the forefront. The gorilla's eyes flashed a blinding bright blue, its howling screech cutting through the din of conversation. Her co-workers all stopped to look in her direction. What did she say? Had she laughed? Was she actually enjoying herself for once?

The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World, Michael Pollan (Random House)

Northbound, Spadina and Queen

Caucasian woman, late 20s, with long brown hair, wearing black coat, orange scarf, red knit cap, and carrying a large canvas book bag.

The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World, Michael Pollan (Random House)

Page 114:

Yet it turns out that it is some of the bitter, bad plants that contain the most powerful magic — that can answer our desire and alter the textures and even the contents of our consciousness. There it is, right in the middle of the word intoxication, hidden in plain sight: toxic. The bright line between food and poison might hold, but not one between poison and desire.

She idled, hands at 10 and 2, and loosened her grip on the wheel, skin stretched tight in a mountainous ridge across the top of her knuckles. She pried two pieces of gum free from the foil pack, and popped one into her mouth, the other fumbled by the gas pedal. She undid her seatbelt and reached out toward the mat, her foot off the brake, retrieving the second piece of gum with less effort than it takes to drink and drive.