to drop by if you need to borrow a cup of sugar or anything.”

“That’s so nice of you,” Natalie said. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine!”

“Thanks, Natalie. Are you a student?”

“Yup,” she said. She fished in the voluminous pockets of her jeans, tugging them lower on her knobby hips, and came up with a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to her brother—who took it—and one to Alan, who declined, then lit up. “Studying fashion design at OCAD. I’m in my last year, so it’s all practicum from now on.”

“Fashion! How interesting,” Alan said. “I used to run a little vintage clothes shop in the Beaches, called Tropicál.”

“Oh, I loved that shop,” she said. “You had the best stuff! I used to sneak out there on the streetcar after school.” Yup. He didn’t remember her, exactly, but her type, sure. Solo girls with hardcover sketch books and vintage clothes home-tailored to a nice fit.

“Well, I’d be happy to introduce you to some of the people I know—there’s a vintage shop that a friend of mine runs in Parkdale. He’s always looking for designers to help with rehab and repros.”

“That would be so cool!”

“Now, Link, what do you study?”

Link pulled at his smoke, ashed in the fireplace grate. “Not much. I didn’t get into Ryerson for electrical engineering, so I’m spending a year as a bike courier, taking night classes, and reapplying for next year.”

“Well, that’ll keep you out of trouble at least,” Alan said. He turned to the nameless woman.

“So, what do you do, Apu?” she said to him, before he could say anything.

“Oh, I’m retired, Mimi,” he said.

“Mimi?” she said.

“Why not? It’s as good a name as any.”

“Her name is—” Link started to say, but she cut him off.

“Mimi is as good a name as any. I’m unemployed. Krishna’s a bartender.”

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