@fabricwrapped / continued.
“Mush-nik,” she said, overemphasizing the sounds, “Like in push. And my name’s Audrey. It’s us two and Seymour.” She pointed over her shoulder toward an unmarked door leading to the basement, though Seymour wasn’t in just now. “We all do our different parts to keep things runnin’.”
Funny sorta customer. Most folks didn’t care to ask her name, let alone worry about how they pronounce Mr. Mushnik’s. But then, most folks didn’t shop here anyhow. It hardly cost Audrey anything to be friendly, so she was willing enough to make small talk. The more the customer — Evelyn — said, the more interesting she got. That new-apartment excitement (and a budget for decoration) weren’t exactly Skid Row hallmarks. Most folks were just glad to have their crumbling little roof over their heads, never mind its looks. But again, most folks.... And yet, the general rule didn't always hold. Audrey, for one, did everything she could to make her own little hole in the wall feel beautiful. Audrey couldn’t help wondering where this woman came from, and how she didn’t realize the on-its-face absurdity of buying flowers for a Skid Row apartment, the absurdity of this whole store. Audrey’s eyes slipped once again over Evelyn, noting again the classy ensemble. Just what kind of gal was she...?
“If you’ve got a blue vase, let’s pull some yellows. They suit each other real nice. I saw you looking at the roses. Classics, always. They usually come in dozens, but we can do 'em in bigger or smaller bunches. If you’re looking for the most bloom on a budget, we could do some gladiolas. ... Are you on a budget?” It’s a question that would usually go without asking, but Audrey’s curious now, and trying to make out just what the situation is with this woman. She extends a hand to gesture toward gladiola stalks dotted in robust blooms all up a single, slightly slumping stem, but her eyes stay on Evelyn, trying to read her expression at the mention of money.
