She was reading Don DeLillo on the streetcar

I spent twenty minutes
looking for my keys. So
I left the doors all open.
I was on the subway, feeling
vexed. Then I realized,
because the snow had returned,
I was wearing two coats. The
inside coat, that's where the
keys were. I read at the ROM
and took the subway home.
All the way, and even the last
leg on the streetcar. There
I sat, far away from the packed
auditorium.
She said, You sold
a lot of books tonight.
This woman two seats ahead of me.
I was at the book table, she said.
Thanks.
The woman across from her
pulled out The Body Artist, so
I had to ask. Are you enjoying
it.
It's a bit slow.
Yes, I know what you mean, but I
like that slowness. And I like small books.
Yes, she said, I like small books
too.
I said, The bit I remember
is when our narrator forgets what
the toaster lever is called. She
calls it the toaster thing. Then
two pages later she remembers the
word lever. The whole book is
about that time just before you
recall what all the world's names
are.