Nico looks at his garden, he thinks it looks good. Bare branches, rotten leaves, dying plants. With fear he looks forward to spring, when everything blossoms back to life and his acquaintances  will tell him he still has such a beautiful garden. These beautiful flowers, what do they like about them anyway? On the street he dodges flower stalls as much as possible. He can smell the foul odor from a distance away already.

When acquaintances come to visit you, they bring you flowers and you have  to smile about it too. Then, just wait until they go away and you can cram the bouquet into a big bag and spray stench remover to clean up the room.

Look, bringing flowers to a funeral, Thats alright with Nico. Good riddance. In obituaries he sometimes reads,  `Annie loved red roses`.
Go ahead, like that does not cost money.
Small effort to bring some wilted tulips picked up from the ground with a pinched nose when the market is being broken down. Occasionally there is `No flowers`. in the obituaries, that must be a soul mate or Nico.

Last week a particular acquaintance  brought a few flowers in a vase when she visited Nico . When she was gone, the flowers ended in the bin swiftly. The vase was also dealt with rather quickly. Bang, his heel landing on it with force and all that remained was picking up the shards.

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