Though the subway tunnel was chilling, the car itself was hot and smelled like a public urinal. I crushed my nose, wishing I had the ability to turn it off. I was surrounded by batshit-crazies who didn’t understand personal space, or what was even acceptable to do outside one’s own private home.

I did my best to avoid contact with anyone, putting on my giant headphones without sound, and pretending I was busy scrolling. Staying safe on the subway meant faking being busy. Whatever it took not to interact with the locals. People always complained about the shit they saw on the London underground or the New York City lines - but Toronto was no better.

And that included the rat problem. I tried my best not to hurl and kick reflexively as one scurried over my boots. It was so fat I could feel its weight through the heavy leather. Was that a pizza in its mouth? Shit. Was that a raccoon chasing it? God. This city would forever be a shit show.

Sighing in frustration, I kept the bitchiest look on my face until the train reached St Patrick station. I hoped my clothes themselves would be enough to deter unwanted attention, but like that would stop anyone who really wanted to try something. If anything, my style sometimes made people want to pick fights with me.

My average height didn’t help much, so many of them picked me for being smaller than them - an easy target in their eyes. Though one heavy stomp from my boots was usually enough to change that notion. Act crazy to keep the slightly less crazy away - that’s my motto. I clenched my teeth as someone approached, and only relaxed when they chose to sit quietly next to me to read. Good, stay like that.

As the LED map indicated our approach to my desired station, I stood. I did my best not to step on the dueling rat and raccoon over the long-expired thin crust that was most likely from a questionable food stand on the harbor. There was no proper etiquette for exiting the subway car in Toronto - only the ‘I must get through’ mindset. 

As I exited the car, pushing through the crowd and up the multiple flights of stairs to the street-side entry, I paused. Today, I seemed to be cursed with vermin blocking my path. Now, before me stood a pigeon and a crow. One had a stick in its mouth, the other had a red tag - an indicator that it was a repeat violent offender to the public. What a nasty pigeon.

Not sure of what to do, I stood still on the steps - waiting to see if their tension would break and fly away, or if they would also feck it out. I received quite a few grunts of complaints and harsh glares as people passed around me and the questionable aves.

I glared back at the passing strangers. What do you want me to do? Fight the birds like some maniac? The next thing I needed was to have everyone on the internet know who I was, and assume I was some lunatic who went around stomping birds that blocked my way. People already had their phones pulled out, recording like that was how they expected it to unfold.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance, attempting to ignore them all and walk around the pair of birdiots. I didn’t make it far before the stick-wielding crow hopped in front of me, blocking the stairs. It swung madly, as if I were the one who picked a fight with it.

Honestly, I was flabbergasted. I have no clue how to proceed from here. I was seriously debating whether or not I should actually fight a bird. I already didn’t care about committing social suicide. Mulling it over, I heard a laugh from behind. A sound that vibrated through me, giving me both goosebumps and a sense of familiar warmth.

I spun, looking to the bottom of the stairs. Stark red hair stood out from the crowd waiting behind me. My mouth gaped open. No, wait. Did that officer somehow follow me? That was him, right? I’m not crazy to assume that every redhead was him. Without even debating it to myself, I took off flying down the stairs. Before even getting to the bottom, I tripped over my boots, falling forward.

“Oof,” I grunted, landing hard against something, forehead bouncing off something sharp. That same chuckle rang out as arms wrapped around to steady me. I looked up in surprise, meeting a pair of warm brown eyes that were almost like liquid gold. They crinkled as they looked down at me.

“Caught you,” he whispered with a deep but boyish voice. I didn’t quite know what happened, but before he could even think about leaving again, I grabbed onto both his sleeves with every bit of strength I had in me.

“No, I caught you,” I replied in a rushed tone, yanking his surprised face closer. “You. How do you know my name?”

“Pardon?” he replied, looking confused. Yeah, show me more of that face. I want you to be as perplexed as I am. Thank you very much.

“Are you not the officer who took me to the clinic earlier?” I stated so, more than questioned. He raised an eyebrow in response, a playful smile on his face.

“I thought you couldn’t see.”

“I couldn’t see well,” I retorted. “I could still make out shapes and colors. And your hair is quite an unmistakable shape and shade.”

“Oh? And what shade and shape is that?” he chuckled in response, lifting my half-fallen body off the last step and placing me on flat ground. He shuffled us off to the side, out of the way of pedestrians attempting to escape the underground.

“Clifford the big red dog,” I replied, matter-of-factly. His jaw dropped. Seeing him in a stupor made me feel more proud of myself. Yeah, take that. You left me speechless enough today, I deserve to return the favor.