1. We've been smoking in the field behind our high school for the better part of an afternoon, spinning the fidget spinner I unironically purchased that morning. As we pack up and start to leave, we head through the parking lot. Suddenly we spot one: a young rabbit bouncing across from the garden around the empty lot. Then another, and another.
    Five rabbits in all, bouncing around us, leaping from the bushes to dance in front of us, chasing each other. We crouch in hushed silence. Five rabbits, not too different than three girls, exalting in the presence of a warm summer day, free from the den and free to be wild.
  2. My salad is arugula, pecans, dried cranberries, and vinaigrette. My drink is a lychee martini. It's about 8 o'clock, and I just finished my second training shift as a server. It's easier than I thought it would be. I like the idea of being a waitress in the downtown core, in the "cool" neighbourhood. Doesn't matter that I have to commute back to
    the suburbs at the end of my shift, go sleep in my childhood bedroom with my stuffed tiger. Not tonight, though. No, I'm going to see Porkchop tonight, and so I drink my martini with a smile and watch the people with their friends and their dates.
  3. I brought the lingerie to his apartment. He's not my boyfriend, but I asked him not to be. He kisses my neck and my shoulders when we spoon in bed together. On our first date he told me I had beautiful eyes, and he spilled a whole beer on my leg. This is us now, two months later, meeting up once a week like clockwork. I put his hand on my breast.
    I lead, he follows. I roll the joints we smoke, but he lets me play the new Zelda game on my own account, because I "have to play it from the start". He's my sweet vegetarian fuckbuddy, and I call him Porkchop.
  4. I'm on the subway with Nicole, our bartender at work. In my hands is a large dollar drink from McDonald's and a free Radler that they were giving out on the street. I'm chugging the Nestea up through the straw so quickly I get a brain freeze. Nicole laughs as I dump the Radler inside the giant paper cup and put the lid back on.
    A man in front of us makes a noise and we look up as he waves a can of PBR furtively. It's the first real hot day of summer, and I wonder how many people have a little alcohol in their drinks, and it makes me laugh. Secretive public drinking is a Toronto tradition.
  5. I'm riding the shuttle bus after work, and it's sticky and hot as it should be, way too overcrowded. I'm wearing a shapeless denim overall dress. That doesn't stop a man behind me from pressing his crotch against my ass repeatedly. I lean forwards and away, so that MY crotch is nearly in the face of the woman sitting in front of me.
    It continues for several minutes until my head is hot with anger and I grab my bags in a huff and move away. Eventually I grab a seat and I spend the rest of the ride staring at him, fantasizing about strangling him or smashing his head against the window or cold-cocking him with my elbow so his nose explodes into blood.
  6. I go on my second date with the Persian boy. I spend a lot of time during dinner trying to decide if I actually think he's cute or not. We walk around a park later, he pushes his bicycle along and I push along my attraction to him, reaching for a connection I'm not going to find. I steal a rose from a garden and shove it in his face, forgetting
    about his allergies. Later, after he uses my breasts to masturbate, I decide I want to leave. I wonder why I went out looking for groceries when I know I have porkchop at home.
  7. I'm at work, and food needs to be run. I take two bowls of granola and yogurt to table 62. The four guests there are immediately silent when I come. They don't look up as I place the bowls down. They don't look like friends. One of them has glazed over eyes. James looks at them with me, and shakes his head. "Gotta be crime. Very strange vibe at
    the table." He says in his lilting Australian accent. I shake my head. It's kind of cool. It's also kind of scary.
  8. It's my 21st birthday, and we've smoked a couple times already. Nik hands me a square of white chocolate, so sweet you can barely taste the cannabis it was made with. Later, at the bar, old friends from high school slide up to me, hand me drinks they bought, wish me happy birthday and squeeze my waist.
    I talk to George, my sister's tall and muscular friend for too long, find myself feeling his arm for no other reason than it is my birthday and I can. My friends are calling to me from outside the porch. It's time to go home.