"JW? No I don't think so. Oh wait a sec I want to get some zucchini."
"What? It's November they don't have zucchini - if they do they probably got it from Loblaws." Babs stood with her arms folded in the middle of the farmers market in Trinity Bellwood park. Only in Toronto would there be a farmer's market in a downtown park at 730 pm on a Tuesday, in winter. Greta, having just worked an 18 hour shift, still wanted to go and was currently molesting some potatoes, her fingerless gloves she used for smoking out the back of the hospital, also handy in this situation.
"Anyway can't you think of someone? Who writes a note on someone's back?" Greta rummaged through her handbag that looked like it could hold roughly half the contents of the entire market if she wanted it to.
"No," Babs said a little miserably. Looking around her she saw nothing but hipster families. Tall skinny men with curvy wives and stylish children - it all made her sick.
"Anyway, how's work?"
"It's fine, I spent 13 hours yesterday trying to understand aboriginal treaty law. I think I know less now than I did when I started - are you going to buy those or not?"
Greta dropped the potato back onto the frost-bitten pile with a sigh. "Nah - let's go get a drink. Lucy told me you're doing some married guy and I wana hear about it on my one night off this week."
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