“Smile.”
“I don’t want anyone seeing this,” she said through her teeth. “I can’t have this be the only recorded statement of my fashion sense.” She smiled obediently nonetheless.
On the way over in the cab — no blanket, just a variation on what she wore to the Eaton Centre — I caught her quietly marvelling at what she saw out the windshield from below. It was daytime after all. I wanted to ask her what she saw, all the things she was comparing to the future.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a prop. I’m sure it will be confiscated later,” I said, holding the disposable camera like a child’s toy. After hauling Karen’s camera around, it was like switching from snooker to eight ball.
We got our tickets and waited in line for one of the two elevators. As was our habit, I did all the talking when it
