There were two lines at the Tim Hortons kiosk - one for those ordering bacon, bagels and specialty drinks - and another for the rest of us.
As the young man behind the counter handed me my tea, I began digging through the giant expanse that is my purse. Gloves. Princess stickers. Altoids. Chocolate bar wrappers…
I was one customer away from my place at the cash register when I remembered the leftover taxi fare change in my pocket.
When I looked over the railing, I could see that it was turning into a busy morning in the hospital so I was glad to have arrived early. I was tired, but anxious to find out if my mom would be able to come home after a frightening 38 hours involving a blood transfusion.
“One fifty-five, please.”
The girl behind the counter watched my money land on the counter. She began to scoop it up and then, she stared at me.