The man sitting behind me on the streetcar had been chatting with his companion for a little while. Feeling gloomy, I listened attentively, not to his words but to his voice; it reminded me of sleek velvet.

I was gazing out of the window when the streetcar sailed by a woman idling on the spot with half her hands down the back of her low riding jeans, exposing her ample white flesh to the afternoon sun.

"Gadzooks," uttered the voice the colour of soft caramels, and I was immediately cheered.