Flowers picked from roadside green spaces, Snap Dragons, Paint Brush, Cow Parsnip, Cut leaf, Coralroot, cut, arranged in found bottles that had been rinsed, but not washed, whiskey, mayonnaise, mustard, mason, whatever bottle found then arranged by height, 20 or so, the tallest in the back, short in front, a handful of flowers in each, not too many, less is more, amongst the offering of arrangements, small hand size American flags, coasters of the Space Needle.
A Red White and Blue ribbon weaves its way through the back row of flowers, the display sits on a tie dye silk throw
Her Mid length, non-washed brown curly hair holds to her head like a helmet, Green and white pin striped button down shirt, holes in the elbows, missing buttons reveal a black bra, her jeans dirty, worn in the knees, rolled cuffs, dirty feet wearing whitish sandals. I think she was once attractive.
How much for the arrangement in back? She didn’t look me in the eye as she said “the ones in back are $7 comes with the vase”
I like the one in the Jack Daniels bottle, “Lovely” she said as she reached for the jar, handed it to me with her eyes down, her body odor was strong, it had a back odor of excrement.
She had a small wagon that I believed carried her goods, her purse sitting in it. She reached for it after I paid her. She struggled to slip the money in, a needle fell out, the kind they hand out for free at the clinics, orange tip and cap.
I had seen her on Broadway for over a week now and curious about her goods spread out, the staging was attractive, the arrangements seemed to be done with the “right touch”
I was driving by today when I decided to make a visit.
I think she is an artist at heart, there are people who you look at, see their work and it fits together, yes, you can tell they painted that.
As I walked away, I admired my new flowers, beautiful in their contrast of something pretty and something that was used and thrown away as garbage, unwashed, taken to be used for something perhaps better.
Walking towards the train station, a bike road by me, the handle bar hit my elbow I dropped, then breaking my vase on the cement.
I kicked the bottle together, picked up the large shrouds of glass, threw it away in a garbage can.
Ill buy again from her, maybe she will show me her eyes.
Transit Transients and Other Stories 