Buying flowers again, this time for an aunt and uncle, the girl at the check-out asks me how much they are. 'Are you sure?' she says when I tell her. 'Don't you believe me?' I ask. 'I just wanted to check', she speaks in a foreign accent and looks coy. I decide to ask my question.
'She doesn't have one', says her colleague from the other end of the counter. He is Indian and protective. 'Do you?' I ask. He laughs and shakes his head. 'Even I don't have one', says a rotund lady who also appears behind the counter carrying a box of cleaning fluid.
I look around. Behind me is a young woman with her red hair scraped back into a tight and long ponytail. Her glasses are metallic and carved into an intricate design. She is carrying a brrom, a mop and a bucket. She is very thin. She gives me an answer.
'It's terrible', she says. 'I hate it'.
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