YOU ARE THE REASON
todays bird
Andulka
Misplaced Lens Cap
trying on a metaphor
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if i look back, i am lost
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Discoholic 🪩
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Mike Driver
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i don't do bad sauce passes
Cosimo Galluzzi
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@chloromanci
FEEL FREE TO TALK TO THE PLANTS. THEY UNDERSTAND.
An indie writing blog for an original character named Daniel Bosch. Written by Mackie, they/them. 21+. Exploring themes such as: growth and decay, witchcraft, fatherhood and learning from mistakes, blooming with what you have and where you're at, and more.
RULES. / ABOUT. / SIDEBLOG.
The little girl’s attention visibly loosens the coil in his throat. Every muscle spasm that tends to leave his back feeling cemented relaxes. Joker, while softening his painted face so his smile won’t frighten her, squares his shoulders before tapping his screen to keep the dimmer from fading and locking the mobile.
Sokol tucks against his master’s left leg and plops on the floor. Blue eyes cold enough to sear flesh shift from his master’s gentle smile, to the bob of his Adam’s apple as he assures Cami, “Of course you can!” to his feet that may begin shaking or his fingers might begin carving his palm. So far nothing. Since the animal’s head bows, only his big black ears crop up from under the counter.
Before he loses his train of thought after leaning forward and turning his phone around for Cami to see, his brackish stare thrashes her father’s way. Joker swallows what tastes like a rusted nail, then answers Daniel with a quick, albeit quiet, “Given that it’s already spring and her flowers haven’t opened…” despite the shop’s humidity that adds even more volume to his below-the-shoulder length hair and thickens his ringlets, something gelid with an acrid odor grazes the back of his neck.
He’d turned away from the door.
Werewolf’s pupils shrink to pinpricks as he, while keeping the old gnarled tree with a smooth rounded stone staircase leading to a circular hobbit-like door in his yard for Cami’s viewing, touches his chin to his shoulder and watches the shop's door. He should turn. One foot glides as if on air and lands behind him, angling Joker’s hips and keeping the phone in his right hand should he need to draw his gun.
His focus returns to Daniel for a whispery, “I think the actual flowers at this point.” Cami wins his attention once again. Joker shifts from foot to foot in a metronome-like oscillation; he tilts his head and speaks to her as if his own daughters entered the building, “And that’s not all. You see…” he flicks to the next image of a birchwood cottage perched between two shrubs that should be crowned in purple flowers, “My wife is making a whole village for our daughters, but she's having a little trouble with the actual garden part.”
The next swipe shows a walkway made from tons of dried up beans leading to a fairy-sized teatime table and a rounded cottage that also should be surrounded by greens.
“Your dad said...that you happen to be an expert in the matter of homing fairies…” Comedy’s side of his smile stretches back as he glances left and right like they're sharing sealed CIA records, “Got any advice I can pass on?”
Joker’s hypervigilance blooms within Daniel a tangle of unease and he finds himself mirroring his customer’s glances toward the door. Gothamites pass the shop more often than they frequent it even now that spring begins warming the outside smog. Daniel thinks to inquire about Joker’s worry but he isn’t the only one disarmed by Camellia’s charm. She’s the only one here ignorant to any threat. Joker’s being very nice to her and that’s all she needs in an immediate friend.
Cami blinks verdant eyes the size of silver dollars up at her father before swinging her toothy grin back at her guest. “Uh huh,” she titters excitedly, folding half her body over the counter to get a better view of both the pictures on the phone and Joker’s face. “I used to have a small garden but now I have a big, big one. It’s upstairs! Wanna see?”
“Sprite,” Daniel interjects with a smile that looks as though it’s backed by indigestion. Cami ignores her father like she knows better than to trust his rejection. She’s smiling wider and wider by the minute. “Sprite,” he tries again, this time softer, “I don’t think he wants to see. I think he just wants to get his own set up. Hm?”
Cami deflates only a little but, like her father, is not so much deterred from her joy as she is rerouted from her previous mission. “You need suck…” Her little brow pleats and she looks to Daniel for assistance. “Succulents,” he offers, to which Cami agrees, “Yes. Suck-lants. Fairies like the puffy ones. And the puffy ones like moss.” As though to aid in her pitch, Cami executes a pushup to stand on top of her stool and steal the moss back from her father’s hands so she can be the one to push it over the counter toward Joker. “Like this.”
“Herbs are good too,” Daniel adds, leaning forward to brace his forearms sidelong where his daughter looms in the direction of her sales victim. “What’d we plant last week?”
“Sage!” Cami plants her hands flat beneath her once again and tips forward to whisper like she's got even more government secrets to trade, “It’s soft and fuzzy. Also we have pink flowers too. Because I like pink sometimes.”
“Gerberas. The pink flowers are gerberas,” Daniel explains to Joker. “But any flower will do. If your wife has a favorite that I don’t have, I can outsource and have ‘em here in a day. They’ll just come from over the river.” New York. “I know a guy.”
“Steve,” Cami again whispers to Joker conspiratorially, of the guy her father knows.
Like a bloated corpse beckons flies and their maggots, Gotham's permeating decay seems to herald visitors. Most are unaware of the preternatural snare the city seems to wrap around their throat until it's too late. Nix, however, longs for the cleaner air and the clearer skies. Looking up now there is only smog, and the noxious plumes adrift from the industrial district. Those black rivers pervade everything, bedecking the concrete around them in a skin of grime. Cloys the throat on the inhale and sticks itself firmly in the windpipe.
She looks at him now and struggles to peel back the vision of an insectoid skin to find his face, and perhaps it shows on the subtle up-curl of her lip or the faint twitch claiming a shadowy ring beneath her right eye. Even so, she smiles, and grants him a brief laugh that's tight in her throat. The constant swing and gentle tugging of her daughter's fingers in her hair aid in some semblance of distraction from her bitterness. She swings her weight onto one hip, though not the better one.
" That just about sums it up. " She agrees, her working fingers pattering Lilac's thigh. The girl's dressed for the prolonged winter as Tigger. Her plain red wellies would be perfect to carve right through the oily slush in the gutters, but she much prefers existing as a limpet on her mother's side. Nix muses, " It's crazy, " While looking right at him, " I'd eat my own fucking arm to get out, and you're all frothing at the gash to trade places. " Up pop her brows in ostensible questioning, she purses her lips with the next cant of her head, and pinprick pupils can't hide her study of him. Like he's an ant beneath magnifier, and the sun is just beginning to peel through the clouds…
" So'd you get your indoor pool, or? "
The weight of Nix’s stare is that of a crowbar to the back of the neck. That kind of attack would come without warning but Daniel perceives the threat before the blow can land and twists his neck to meet those frosted eyes. All the winter air sits within them. Feels just as shocking too. But Daniel’s an open book and doesn’t care for posturing. Gothamites wear hoods and cowls and false names to get the things they want. Not Daniel. He’s as blatant as that crowbar assault too and nearly as honest. She can crack him open if she wants to. The mess’ll blend into the rest of the street.
“Grass is always greener.” Daniel grins, much more pleased with himself than anyone ought to be, and then shrugs his shoulders as if to relay to her that he knows it wasn’t actually clever at all. Horticulturist, grass. Stupid. “But I don’t know. Some things beat sleeping in the back of a 1989 Honda Accord. I’d have eaten an arm, a leg, and then some for working A/C. And aren’t your summers here kind of...muggy?” He isn’t actually sure. Now he’s trying to remember what that climate summaries report actually said.
Blinking corrects his sights away from their blank fix over the shoulder opposite where Nix’s little girl clings. Now Daniel hooks back into their staring contest. His smile widens and dimples his cheeks. “Nah. Lost the pool deal, but snagged a place in Burnley. We’re living right above the shop.” He’s lucky Cami’s little enough not to mind sharing cramped quarters with her old man right now. Still beats where they’ve come from. Daniel plants his hands on his hips and cocks his head, squinting once again past Nix. “School district’s pretty shit though, I have to admit. Are you springing for private for her?” Lilac, obviously. Not that he could do the same for Camellia right now. Still bears asking.
I’ve a work dinner to attend (RIP) but I beg of you to send memes for me to write when I get home!
I’ve a work dinner to attend (RIP) but I beg of you to send memes for me to write when I get home!
ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ
When will I be free from the clutches of capitalism?
the mountain in the sea.
dialogue prompts from the mountain in the sea by ray nayler.
i keep making it more dramatic than it was.
what did you see?
the weather is shitting rain.
you were crying. did you have the dream again?
there was nothing you could have done.
please stop pestering me about my vampirism.
i need enormous quantities of solitude.
i'm not up late. i'm up early.
profit is a powerful motivator.
why do you need me here, if you already know everything?
sacrifice should be worth something.
what monsters have we made?
i'm not a bad person, but i had to live.
sometimes i think i imagined that part.
i'm not ready to have someone try to heal me.
i need to carry it with me a while longer.
it's better to ask questions than to struggle for answers.
i'm not done with you yet.
there isn't anything a coward can't live with.
it's always been a game for you.
i thought you might listen to me.
it can't be any worse than this.
what do you do with all the things you no longer need to remember?
what i'd like to build is a forgetting palace. somewhere to put the things i don't want to remember anymore.
i don't want to be the person carrying around these memories anymore.
it's you who doesn't want to hear it. but i need to tell it.
nothing will make it better but time. you have to give it time.
you're playing games you don't even know the rules of.
it's so easy to justify our own actions.
i keep making the pieces fit how i want them to. not the way they are.
i like when you're gone. i win all our arguments in my head.
i think, therefore i doubt i exist.
consciousness is a self-sustaining illusion.
what did you do to make the feeling go away?
i learned to hide it. to smile.
i'm not like you. i never was.
how many people have you killed?
we don't get to choose our homes. they choose us.
i don't hate you. i just don't want to talk to you.
i can't imagine you trusting anyone.
i don't feel afraid. i feel angry.
inaction is also a kind of action.
i feel like i know you so well.
nothing is certain, and nothing is permanent.
The little girl hadn’t addressed him, yet Joker’s blood warms some from hearing her voice. Thalia tightens her grip on the right side of his face. He leans into that smile, eyes averted.
Shifting from foot to foot ripples up his legs and torso until his shoulders ride the same sub-bass that’s bullied its way into a certain unpublished song. His new ARP and Pulsar will guide this one. Musician’s fingertips strike those invisible keys to will himself into making and keeping eye contact for longer than what keeps him comfortable.
Sokol wedges his nose in the trough of his master’s palm to splinter any forthcoming dissociation. Joker yanks the cigarette from his mouth with his weak hand. Twinkles from the sea glass sweep over every slope and roam the contours of his face before setting within his green eyes. In certain lights, they might appear backlit like some night animal.
Finally he exhales. Poison vents from his nostrils and builds a screen that Joker finds comfort in. He lingers behind it, shoulders still angled and one eye on the door to monitor it for any characters who might think now’s the time to slay the beast. He remains standing on the balls of his feet just to be safe. A grey ribbon zigzags from his right hand.
“Does it?” he asks, showing teeth to mask how his heart’s in his throat. Another glance cuts his focus toward the door. Dent hasn’t grown that bold yet. Yet. “W-we um...” bone-dry laughter strains his voice, spinning the shop floor until he forces himself to cough, “We have plenty of grass. I think she was more upset about the flowers. Nixie built this one into one of our trees…”
Joker's free hand, though trembling, drops in his pant pocket to retrieve his bright red iPhone, bobble it, then use facial recognition to unlock it and fumble around his photos until he finds the first of many: a fitted round door waits at the peak of a meandering stone staircase.
“She wanted to wrap vines and flowers around this one," he explains, "We don’t have any moss in our yard either. It’s supposed to kinda wedge the thing in place and cushion the stones.”
“It’s your lucky day,” Daniel says with exaggerated aplomb meant to enthuse his daughter more than his customer. The vibrant rise in his voice draws those big green eyes as intended and her father waggles his brows at her to keep her ephemeral attention. “We’re experts when it comes to fairy gardens. Isn’t that right, Cami?”
Cami wrinkles her nose when she smiles toothily. One gap between a central and lateral incisor sees her tongue poking through that hole and now that she’s found it again, she will keep going back to check if her adult tooth has cut through the gums yet. It hasn’t. “We have one!” Now Cami swings her focus ‘round to their guest and her smile wilts around the edges with what can only be described as dazzled awe. “I like your hair.”
Daniel huffs a laugh and smooths a hand over Camellia’s head. The wide set of his palm temporarily smooths down the frizzies poking out of her braids but there’s no real taming what the humidity in the shop has done to her two brown plaits. “Think you can go grab us a little box of moss, Sprite? Remember where we put them last week?”
Cami says, “‘Kay,” and slides off her seat, abandoning her rock project to slip around her father and the counter. As she passes Joker, she gives him a shy little wave. Daniel watches her cross to the other side of the room, her mission delayed only when she gets distracted momentarily by a collection of strings of pearls that she passes her fingers through. When she reaches the bags of soil and mulch, he tilts his head back toward Joker.
“They skimped you on the whole she-bang, huh? Did, ah, Nixie, you said–? Did she want seeds or blooms? I have both, just depends on what she was looking for.”
Cami’s returned with a square plot of live moss in a plastic planter clutched between her little hands. She circles back around the counter to hand the moss to her father, all the while doing a horrible job pretending Joker’s service animal does not attract her attention. Daniel offers a free hand to help boost her back up into her seat, but she isn’t interested in her rocks anymore. “Can I see the door again?” she asks Joker quietly, kicking her little feet back and forth so her heels hit her stool again and again and again. Her father reminds her to tack on a please to her request which she does with an impish smile.
what are you talking about of course theres a shark in the greenhouse
Irony seats a toddler on Nix's hip, her strained spine curved to one side so that her right side pops outward for her youngest daughter's perch. Lilac is too big for the hip seat to help either of them, and so Nix masks a grimace upon turning to look him in the eye.
The echoes of the dawning subject shades her gaze, drawing colour from glacial blue to grey. Her daughter's too busy turning her head to people watch, as if she could in any way watch her mother's back for her. Her free hand folds into Nix's blonde tresses, absently wrapping her fingers around and around. She'd felt the rigidity bloom across her mother's shoulders, the tensity of her fingers, wrapping against her thigh to keep her in place.
A laugh, misplaced and built from some hopeless fractals jarring in her chest resounds. The street is built so tight with brick and concrete that for a moment, the snapping of Nix's teeth sings in the air like bones being broken. " A little bit. " In lieu of having a hand free to gesture some miniscule space between her finger and thumb, her nose wrinkles and she flashes her teeth. Catching herself after a moment, she purses her lips, ducks her head. As she ostensibly sobers, her gaze flits down, then up. Down, then up. " Fucker sent my home to the ether. "
A delicate pat of her hand seems to reassure her daughter when her mother ponders accusingly, " Bet the housing market opened right up after that. "
Gotham’s got some way about it. It sinks its roots into you anyway, that’s for damn sure. And Daniel, ever the green thumb, is a bit helpless to that sort of grounding. Doesn’t much hurt that he’s been a little bit always searching for some place to do that for him. Maybe that’s not Gotham but at least for now it’s a place that isn’t someone’s couch or the backseat of his car or a hotel room for a week. Nevermind that he’s behind on rent. At least there’s rent to be behind on.
“Jesus.” Empathy in him clocks her discomfort but he’s awkward with it for a moment. Scratching the back of his neck and cracking a grin feels inadequate but at the worst of times he’s nothing if not good for some shit humor in the face of shit luck. “A little bit is right. Shit.” Daniel exhales a laugh and shakes his head, looking away as if to hunt for something that won’t shut her down with her daughter so vinelike attached to her. Belatedly he realizes he’s been spewing expletives in front of her toddler. That she’s been responding in kind is the only reason he halts an apology.
She slides to an abutting topic easier than he assumes truly is. Daniel latches onto it. “Yeah. I mean, buy now and get an indoor pool free? In New Jersey? That’s practically a misdemeanor.” Warmer air catches that joke on an updraft. Daniel glances at the perching girl for a moment thinking of his own before averting his gaze entirely and fixating intently on a couple of pigeons attempting to jaywalk the waterlogged street. “Do you think it attracted a lot of people here? Tragedy does that. You know how many people actually moved to New York after 9/11? Population was booming.”
His punchline lands somewhere in the space between them, or else further than he’d intended to pitch it. Allison lets it hit the water and sink, holding his gaze with hers, before she finally squints at him above the simmering veneer of a humored smile. ❝ A simple no would have sufficed. ❞ Something tells her he’d rather avoid simple; that, or it avoids him and she can only guess why. ❝ Dental and vision for part time. ❞ Allison scoffs so she doesn’t laugh.
Someone comes in the front door, jingling the chime to alert for a new customer. Allison opens her mouth to call a greeting, but the man covered in dirt beats her to it. He finishes that apparent race with a smirk; Allison squints at him again and pushes off from the counter to put more distance between them. ❝ Yes. ❞ She tucks a chin - length strand of hair behind her ear. ❝ It’s Allison. ❞
Before Flower Guy can try it, Allison says to the browsing tourist meandering down the aisle of incense sticks, ❝ Let me know if you need help finding anything. ❞ Shooting her new rival a lifted - brow look over her shoulder, she circles around the opposite aisle and fusses with Addie’s jar collection. Her aunt is either taking a long phone call or she’s taken her lunch knowing damn well she’s got help to cover her. Allison chances a peek first over at the tourist, and then Flower Guy. Eyeing the pot at his feet, she asks, ❝ Are you delivering something for Adelaide? I can sign for it. ❞
She makes a good show but he takes that scoff for what it really is and smiles smugly so she knows he knows the truth. A simple no would have sufficed by her very high and doubtlessly impossible standards. But then he wouldn’t have tricked amusement out of her or that pleasant little pinch to her brows that clearly indicates ire. Seeing it only makes him grin even wider, not even the customer able to simmer him down though he makes a show of turning away at last to hide it.
Daniel bends down to scoot the pot around the corner of the counter so it sits on the floor beside and avoids becoming a trip hazard. The blackeyed Susans are disturbed by the travel they’d endured before arrival but he isn’t worried about their current droop. Adelaide’s a green thumb even without her magic and Daniel’s confident enough to leave the blooms here. If he’d been worried, they wouldn’t be sitting in soil right now but rather cut at the stem and wrapped tightly in twine.
Allison’s competitiveness has the opposite effect than she’s clearly going for. Daniel is smirking wider when he stands back up and turns to face her. She’s tucked behind a shelf with several feet of space between them aside but he can feel her superiority even from here. “What? And risk you dumping these poor Susans out back out of spite? No way.” Daniel tips against the counter at his back and crosses his arms over his chest. “If you must know, Allison, I’ve been trying to court your aunt for weeks now. I’m hoping these will finally win her over. She kept the last ones at least so I’m thinking I finally have a chance.”
The temptation to investigate that capsized dung-pile is excruciating, but Sokol resists. He prepares for Joker to release his pale blue lead so he can patrol Bosch’s Growth’s interior. Doesn’t happen.
Werewolf rocks from side to side on his hind legs. Each rotation is so subtle, Joker might elude the naked eye altogether. He’s forgotten the cigarette dangling between his middle and index fingers, too. That lit cylinder spits a pewter thread that singes his skin. To disguise the scald, he flashes his crooked teeth and leans into another drag off his cigarette. Smoking’s likely prohibited. Try telling him that.
Sokol is first to brace when his master emits a winded, wheezy noise he’s trying to pass off as laughter. When his chin touches his shoulder, he spots a little girl around Evelyn’s age behind the counter. How her ringlets catch the light warms him some, though he doesn’t allow his eye to linger.
Turning his torso on a diagonal keeps the door and most of the shop in view so Gotham remains to him. Sokol paws at his master’s foot to allay its endless shake.
Joker mutters, “Not enough to browse…” When he shifts his focus around the shop for theatricality’s sake, a teal glint from the sea glass ignites his eyes. “Though my wife just got scammed from an Instagram mom’s fairy garden book. Nixie's blaming herself, but…” the makeup helps exaggerate his frown as Joker speaks out the side of his mouth — with a cigarette still trapped between his teeth, “I don’t...exactly...think they’re scientists over at Renee’s Special Seeds.”
Six wire shelves sit in two rows of three central to the store. From where Joker came in through the entrance door, he could have walked straight down that middle aisle between them to the back wall presently lined with bookshelves. Only one of them actually contains any books, all of which are of course on theme. The rest contain varying pots in both ceramic and biodegradable options, trays, seed starter kits, and heavier terra cotta planters relegated to the floor. The shelves in the middle of the room house most of the plants but there was no missing the large outdoor foliage set out in front of the shop.
Daniel taps a finger to the seaglass so the whole thing spins and sends those fractals dancing across Joker’s face. Then he makes an effort to keep a respectable distance between himself and the working wolfhound as he advances on his associate behind the counter along the wall adjacent to the front. “See, I’ve been persuaded to try the social media route for promoting business, but...” Daniel throws a lemonsucked look over his shoulder at Joker before his goodnatured grin returns. “What happened to MySpace? AOL?”
“What’s AOL?” Cami asks, not once breaking her concentration from her sorting. She takes great care setting a medium sized stone next to another larger stone to compare the two and, seemingly displeased with what she finds, she separates them both into different piles.
“Old people Google.” Daniel smiles conspiratorially at Joker and shrugs his shoulders as if to say, ‘Am I wrong?’ Camellia is neither impressed or disappointed by his explanation. The stone sorting is too important. To Joker, Daniel asks, “Y’need seeds then? Fairy garden means grass or flowers. We have some moss too if you really want to sell it.”
House of light C - Frank Brunner , 2004.
Norwegian, b. 1971 -
Oil on canvas , 75 x 110 cm
It’s not hot enough to shirk sleeves just yet in southern Louisiana, but even that impending wet heat won’t dissuade Allison from covering up. She has the collar of her jean jacket turned up against her throat to dissuade the wind outside from slipping through her hair to chill her. It’s no use though; death has a funny way of keeping the cold trapped in the bones, so Allison will wear her jacket through the end of May and into June. Even now, stepping over the threshold into the shop which is markedly more humid than the outdoors, she keeps her arms clutched close against her belly.
She doesn’t know his voice or his face. Proximity does nothing for her recall in this instance. If she knew someone eons ago, drawing closer at least reminds her body what once came to pass. He has no such effect on her until they lock eyes. Allison draws her chin up in defense before she can check herself. There are no dreams that spring forth to give layers to his eyes nor memories she doesn’t recognize that offer complexity to the comfortable way he fits into this space. She’s got nothing to explain him away; he is just a stranger to her.
❝ That’s fine. I can wait for her. ❞ Allison stops on the opposite end of the counter and pivots on the ball of one foot to face him. It’s not so far a distance that she can’t see that he’s been sprayed in dirt, but it is enough space that she can’t determine if he has his own freckles or if that compost dressed him down so badly. Allison indulges a friendly smile. ❝ I hadn’t realized my aunt hired another part timer. Did you just start today? ❞
When the seasons shift down here, there’s reason enough to celebrate. The city’s got a habit of making something out of nothing about as often as they make nothing out of something. That’s more to do with protecting its own though. In certain communities around here, it’s harder to stay quiet than it is to start talking. Adelaide Argent runs half those communities herself. Probably why he’d been roped into her circle. Hard not to be once the woman deems you interesting enough.
Daniel’s heard about Addie’s niece. This is not what he’d been expecting. That frigid air she brings in with her smells as expensive as she looks and Daniel almost sketches a bow just to really sell the whole vibe. If she wasn’t already biased, Addie no doubt would’ve claimed her aura somewhere in the neighborhood of Chanel. Or whatever the hell that bag’s brand is. He sure as hell wouldn’t know.
“Yeah, first day.” Slothlike and just as unbothered, Daniel moves to stand and presses a hip into the counter on a lean. When he drags his wrist across his brow, it’s a wonder he doesn’t leave behind a streak of dirt. He’s grinning back at her. “Don’t really believe all this bullshit,” he lowers his voice but only enough to convey what ought to be a secret in case they've got an eavesdropper in his supposed boss and waves a hand vaguely in the air to gesture at...everything, “But the old lady promised dental and vision. Can you believe her generosity?” Daniel lets the joke fester between them and doesn’t lose his easy smile. Then, “It’s Allison, right?”
i didn't mean to be here. suddenly i just was.
Plants keep secrets if you had nowhere else to go. It’s one of those things Daniel learned young, a boy with nothing and no one, a boy cast out by the people meant to love him. Plants also follow the same life cycle we do, bloom and decay, birth and rot, and they go back to the earth just the same as we do. Not enough people get that, Daniel thinks. It’s easier to relax under cover of green. He wouldn’t be surprised if all this life drew Joker in even unintentionally. That’s how it always goes.
Camellia’s sat on the high stool behind the store counter sorting rocks. How she’s sorting them, who’s to say, but it looks to be maybe by size. The humidity in the air has her hair more frizzy than curly, little brown ringlets coiled at her temples and at the nape of her neck. She says nothing to her latest customer when the door jingles. Bad service already.
“Little early for philosophizing.” Daniel speaks from Joker’s right where he’s rehanging a wind chime by the front window. It’s comprised of chunks of seaglass strung together by twine and would throw fractals of bluegreen against the walls if the light outside wasn't so bleak. Joker ought to watch his step unless he wants to wade through a tipped over bag of fertilizer with those fancy shoes of his. Daniel grins knowingly. “What? Don’t like flowers?”
🌱 WATCH. (for @jokethur)
