His head turned to the side a little. “It’s better,” he said quietly.
“The pain?” I asked. He nodded a little. “Good,” I said. And then, like the bitch I am:
“You were saying something about Gus?” But he was gone.
I went downstairs to the tiny windowless gift shop and asked the decrepit volunteer sitting on a stool
behind a cash register what kind of flowers smell the strongest.
They all smell the same. They get sprayed with Super Scent,” she said.
“Really?” “Yeah, they just squirt ’em with it.I opened the cooler to her left
and sniffed at a dozen roses, and then leaned over some carnations.
Same smell, and lots of it. The carnations were cheaper, so I grabbed a dozen yellow ones.
They cost fourteen dollars. I went back into the room; his mom was there, holding his hand.
She was young and really pretty. “Are you a friend?” she asked,
which struck me as one of those unintentionally broad and unanswerable questions.
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