When I first went up to NYC, one of the things that struck me was the flower sellers on what seemed like every other corner, huge bunches of roses and peonies and carnations and hydrangeas everywhere. I'd see people stop impulsively to buy a bunch and then walk off with them down the street, carry them on the subway.
It all looked so romantic and cosmopolitan. Ever since, it's been a silly fantasy of mine. So the other day I decided I'd buy myself some flowers.
(I told a friend later that day that I'd bought myself some flowers, and he rolled his eyes and laughed. "Did you get yourself a card too?" I told him I had, but that "it might take a while to arrive in the mail." A stupid joke, yes...but, now that I'm thinking of it, hell, maybe I should have. )
Anyway, this ain't NYC.
The only thing you can find on the street corner around here is a pothole...or maybe a crack whore....or maybe a crack whore in a pothole.
For flowers, you have to get in a car. I first tried braving the bougie masses at Whole Foods, but the prices there were too steep. So I found myself at the local supermarket. I picked out a dozen roses and a diet coke and got in line behind the woman buying three Vitamin Waters and package of beef jerky with food stamps.
The cashier was near narcoleptic, with hair that looked like Buckwheat's. She could barely even mumble the price to me. She dropped a nickel of change on the conveyor and her lids started to fall. She left me to collect my roses from the conveyor belt and shuffled out, as fast as a narcoleptic can manage, mumbling to the bag boy, "hey, take over for me. I gotta go shit."
Totally romantic and cosmopolitan.
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