It was the next morning; the city was stirring into life on the streets. Old men wandered in the cool and pale sunlight on a comparative Odyssey to source bread and the day's newspaper. Men and women made the walk of shame home after last night's conviviality - on the whole, the sun smelt too loud.
Evie bustled around readying the shop for opening - who realistically wanted flowers at 9 o'clock anyway? She nervously adjusted the bun on her head she'd wound her glossy coils into. She flitted hither and thither, bird-like, tweaking various floral arrangements, ranging from gaudy harlequins to sober and iridescent petal-crowns. A cup of tea cooled on the counter. Her slender fingers coaxed a crocus from a recumbent dozing. She gulped from the milky tea, leaving a red lipstick smear on the rim.
She smoothed her skirt over her hips, she puffed out her cheeks and looked around. Perfect. Chewing partially on a fingernail, something caught her eye. A lonesome sprout in one of the pots on the floor. We can't have that! She plucked the tea-spoon from beside her cup and bent down to dig up the little sproutling.
Her shapely hips bumped a pot behind her. The clink of pottery alerted her and snapped her from her tending. She wheeled quickly to catch it. Red hot pain seared across her arm. She cried in pain. The pot fell and shattered into a dozen or so shards. Evie clutched her arm and winced. Red seeped through she white fabric of her blouse. She looked at the offending plant. A prickly customer, some odd and aggressive looking cactus. A drop of blood hung suspended on a spine. "Why do I even stock this!" she wailed in despair. Tears pricked and dampened her blue eyes. Teeth bared in a grimace of pain, Evie rolled up her sleeve. A gouge in her upper arm, a red slash in her soft skin, scarlet on ivory. It seemed surprisingly deep. Evie clamped her napkin, dotted slightly with tea stains, and clamped it to the wound.
After a spiteful glance at the plant, she dressed her wound upstairs in her flat. Christ it hurts... Evie stood up, she rubbed her hips. You girls are nothing but trouble. Grudgingly, she returned to work. She glared at the plant. She extended a finger and tested a spine. "Feck sake!" she sucked the finger in disbelief. Right, your fecking gone. She moved the plant to a corner of the shop where she could ignore it.
The day rolled on and her arm still hurt! She stood behind the counter, leaning and rubbing her arm. There was only one man in the shop - elderly, short, portly with round glasses. She watched him lazily, slightly dozy from the heat...
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