I ventured through the sub-zero, gale force winds to downtown Cold Lake, stopping in to the bookstore to warm up. There, I found an exhaustive section on crystals and chakras, but nothing actually readable. I couldn't figure out the shelf organization: crappy pulp fiction was in the same section as prize-winning literature – but only prize-winning literature that had been endorsed by Oprah. Also, they'd forgotten to order any authors with names beginning with T. There was, however, an entire section explicitly dedicated to Christmas books. I left baffled and empty-handed.
I sat in the coffee-shop for awhile, sipping a dark roast and eavesdropping on a first date. They were both in their late thirties or early forties. She had obviously put in some effort – a flattering shirt and some makeup. But it couldn't hide the fact she was balding. He looked as though life had been none too kind. She looked anywhere but his eyes. I wanted them to like each other, but I'm not sure they did.
Once they left, two teenage girls sat down. One ate a brownie while the other worked her way through a pile of lottery tickets. As she scraped off the coloured foil of the Scratch n' Win, she said, "My mom wasn't sick until the second trimester. I've been okay so far, so I'll probably be the same." She brushed the foil bits off the table and looked at her friend. "What are you wearing to grad?"
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