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screaming, ‘What the fuck?!’ or some shit like that, and the other guy was saying, ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ The system was really crowded, and all these people were ambling by pretending not to notice.
    â€œI felt sorry for the student so I intervened and said, ‘Hey, man, he’s said he’s sorry about fifty times. What’s the problem?’ Now the fucker was in my face. He shouts, ‘You wanna box?’ Fists clenched but not raised. I put myself into the ‘ready stance,’ as I was taught in martial arts, feet planted shoulder-length apart, arms loose. I said, ‘Do you ?’ Just then a couple of uniformed TTC guys happened to come down the stairs, and the guy took off, yelling, ‘Fuck all you faggots!’ He was obviously wasted on crack or something. A minor incident, but things like that get the adrenaline pumping.”
    Before she could respond, he continued. “And with animals especially—I fucking hate it when anybody abuses them. A couple of months ago, right, I was walking along St. Clair, and just before Yonge Street, outside the Scotiabank, there was this dog tied up to a parking meter—right out in the direct sunlight. It was really hot. He was panting fit to beat Jesus, and wandering around as much as he could, and whimpering. I went into the bank and pointed out the window at the dog and asked the lady at the service desk, ‘Do you know who the owner is?’ She was very nice, and said, ‘Well, I’m not sure, but I think he’s in the bank somewhere.’ I said, ‘Okay, well, I’m going across the street for a minute, and if he’s still out there when I get back I’m calling the police.’ Just then this guy comes trotting past us from the teller counter, and the service lady asked him, ‘Is that your dog out there?’ He said, ‘Yeah,’ and I said, ‘That dog is really suffering, man.’ He wouldn’t look at me, and he ran out and untied the dog and went on his way at a distinctly brisk pace. Sometimes I forget how intimidating I can look. I’ve heard it said that I look like a Hells Angel whose Harley is in the shop. Anyway, that was my good deed for the day.”
    Now that all the lights were on, Marva tried to concentrate. Even if she wasn’t drunk, alcohol always fucked with her thinking. He’d taken off his leather jacket and was wearing a preppy type of striped shirt with the sleeves pushed up beyond the zigzag tattoos, and was barrel-chested but not exactly fat, not yet, not for another few years maybe. Also, he smoked American cigarettes.
    â€œWhat sign are you?” she asked.
    â€œCapricorn.”
    â€œI’m Gemini. I don’t know astrology that well, but my girlfriend’s into it so I’ll have to ask her what Capricorns are like one of these days. She’s going through a lot of shit right now. Children’s Aid took her kids away, and she’s trying to get them back.”
    Jack turned his head to exhale. “How come?”
    â€œI don’t really know. I think her ex-boyfriend phoned them and lied that she took drugs and that they weren’t getting fed, and stuff like that. I don’t know exactly. He was kind of fucked up over her and wouldn’t leave her alone.”
    â€œAre you two good friends?”
    â€œWe’re all right. I used to know her from where I grew up, so we still get together and stuff.”
    â€œWhere’d you grow up?”
    â€œJane and Finch.”
    â€œTough area.”
    â€œYeah, I had to get out. People live really badly sometimes. They have no respect, and write on walls and vandalize everything. It’s dis gusting . I still have friends who live up there, and my mother too, because that’s where she goes to church and knows everybody.” Marva raised her glass. “Do you ever go?”
    â€œChurch? No.”
    â€œNever?”
    â€œNot