Flowers
Guests at the flower shop1 on September 10th, 2026: A guy in his early fifties, shaved head, wide workwear pants in heavy canvas, their hems meeting very round leather shoes, buffed to a shine. A plain t-shirt. Everything black, worn with silver jewellery. He is talking on the phone when he arrives, and continues to do so for all his visit until he leaves towards a large and very angular SUV. It is all black too.
A man, maybe forty, wearing olive green army fatigues, cropped, wide and oversized, with chunky Adidas running sneakers. They are silver and black, like a well-bombed tag. A close-fitting T-shirt in Taupe, at least four silver rings and heavy black frames with slightly toned lenses. When the sun fades, he throws on a black blazer with a structured shoulder.
A woman with cropped silver hair, in a black double breasted suit, two sizes larger than her diminuitive frame. She pairs it with a black T-shirt, silver running sneakers and red lipstick.
Late to arrive is a man of about sixty-five in green balloony pants, hems rolled up, low crotch. With it, a wide white dress shirt, rounded hem, cuffs open. He walks laboriously, with a noticable limp. He too wears sneakers, they are all black, with triple-stacked soles. They were made by Nike and Sacai.
This is one of the few places I brought with me from a previous version of my life. A flower shop, a café and an actual place, as well as an imagined one. I remember Lena and myself many years ago, at night, marvelling at the wood-clad multistorey across the small half-park with its poplars and benches. Trees are growing on the house’s roof, and exuberant greenery spills from every balcony. ↩︎