jxinted based on this post
If there was one thing his Grandmother had taught him about paying proper respects to the dead it was flowers. Flowers were always needed. Or at least some kind of a gift to show proper respect. It was like going over to a family friends without some type of a side dish for that cook out you never wanted to go to, Grandpa. Rude. And while he was perfectly fucking fine with being rude to anyone else -- he wasn’t alright with being rude to them. Which was why, every Saturday, he found himself passing by the house with the large garden in the front -- plucking a few pretty colors from the well maintined lawn. Really, his Grandmother would have smacked him with the newspaper again if she saw him stealing like this -- but he didn’t have the money to buy flowers. And with how often he went, it would amount to too much money anyway. Sometimes he stole the colorful bouquet from other lawns, but most of the time it was always from this one particular house. Mainly because they had the best flowers, but also because it was easier and more on his way than the others. On this particular Saturday, he arrived around the time he usually did -- and set to work on simply plucking away at the flowers he thought they’d like.
