It was hot and smelled of summer. Warm water on hot cement and chlorine. Zoe’s short hair was plastered to her head, tendrils dipped in sweat. She gesticulated wildly her muscles flexing beneath colourful tattoos.
“So basically” she was saying “the Bechdel test looks at female presence in movies. It asks you to think of a movie and see if it has more than two female characters who have names, if yes, do they talk to each other and finally, do they talk to each other about something other than men? It’s sad how many movies fail the test. Something is clearly wrong with the movie industry and with North American movie-goers too if we continue to be silent about the lack of female representation.”
I heard her. I knew she was right. But her words melted in the heat as my attention shifted to the hot shirtless guy locking up his bike.
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