It was a novel approach, not the usual stories of hospitals
and phone calls to relatives, or the need for bus fares
to locations in a walking distance. She placed the
unknown flowers in my hand, wrapped in kitchen foil
that could be easily bought from the same grocery store
I had laden my other hand with. The same flowers I saw
trodden on the ground a few seconds ago.
Are you some new age believer, giving me part of your
energy or spreading your love? Oh, no then, you’re
selling them, “for some extra change”. As I fumble for
coins the cigarette smoke wafts from the same hand carrying
your other flowers, like some bastardised scent or incense.
Then your sympathetic banter begins, and you are
suddenly my friend.
First coin out of the wallet goes to you, fifty pence. But your
eyes are as sharp as your pricing mechanism. “Two pounds.”
No, that’s not fair, nothing was agreed. “Two pounds,
I saw two pounds, I’m selling them for two pounds.”
At least you have a return policy, but I’d rather not
make a claim, lest you go into recession.
