“So if you’re such a big-deal writer, “said Bliss, “What do you write?”
     “Stories,” Michael told her.  “and I never said I was a big deal writer.”
     “Big writer,” she laughed.  “Huge writer!  Larger-than-life!  One look at you, Sir Cardigan, and I can see you don’t even know any stories, not even one story!”
     “Maybe you’ll be one. You could hold still and be a story, couldn’t you?”
     “You just have no imagination at all, do you?” said Bliss.
     “Not a lot, “he admitted.  “Listen,” he added, “this is a bit embarrassing, but what do you use for a toilet?”
     “Why?  You have to go?”
     “I have to pee, yes.”
     “Well, you just go over to the other side and pee on the tracks,” said Bliss.  “Looking both ways first, of course!”
     Michael went.  And then came back.
     “What do you do,” he said, making sure his zipper was fully zipped, “if it’s more…you know, dire?”
     “Well if you have to, you know, poop or something.”
     “You go outside and find yourself an all-night coffee shop.”
     “I see,” said Michael.
     “Speaking of which, it’s too bad we can’t have a cup of tea or something,” Bliss added.  “Don’t you think we could use a cup of tea?  Some nice, heavy, green, self-righteous algae tea that’d be really good for us?  And maybe a big slice of cake?”
     “I suppose we could find to a Second Cup or something,” said Michael.  “I don’t know if they’ll have cake.”
     “Well, somewhere that has cake then.”
     “What about Fish?
     “We’ll leave him here,” said Bliss.  “He’ll be okay.”
     “Here?  On the subway platform?”
     “Sure,” she says. “That’s where I found him.  Listen, do you have a toonie?”
     Michael dug in his pockets.  “One,” he told her.
     “So look, could you go over to the candy machine and buy Fish a chocolate bar?”
     “That’s not a great thing to give a dog.”
     “Well that’s what he likes best, okay?  He likes the crunchy ones—like a Skor bar or a Coffee Crisp or a Crispy Crunch.  They’re more like bones!”