The Florist’s

I have a flaming, vivid memory of being taken into a florist’s shop at a very young age. From a blazing Texas afternoon into a quite cool, dark and moist cave-like environment. Glass doors dripping with precipitation. Fluorescent lighting illuminated a riotous variety of color. And the smell. It was the most wonderful sledgehammer of non-food odors I’d ever encountered.

To this day I tend to veer through the floral section when I’m in a grocery store just to bump that mental image picture.

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