When I am bereft of flowers, I go on the prowl.
A few days ago, I saw pink jasmine growing near the Palace of Fine Arts, so under cover of darkness, I headed out tonight. I walked up and down streets near the Bay, unable to remember where I had seen them as I hadn't thought to make note of it. I didn't know I would need to. I have scruples. I never steal flowers that grow on stems, nor do I take my clippers as that would be lacking in spontaneity, even crass. Premeditated. I do not ever take them from private property, although public areas are fair game. Purchased flowers are always welcome, but sometimes I just crave the home-grown variety.
On one corner, an official-looking sign was attached to the street marker: "Suspicious activity will be reported to the police." Those Neighborhood Watch types never give up. Some garages had heat-sensors that set off spotlights when someone walks by. Those houses didn't even have flowers to steal. What were they protecting? A few dogs barked from inside. I barked back at them. They barked louder. So did I. I am a very good barker. I always have the last word.
Flip refuses to accompany me on these excursions. He does not have a clandestine bone in his body, and considers me a criminal because I do. The wind was whipping and it started to rain. I don't know why Chicago is called the Windy City, probably because whoever claimed that title had never been here.
I grabbed a
It had been awhile, but the body remembers. Like riding a bicycle. I know I should hate myself, but I really, really need flowers around me. I need them in a vase by my bed so I will have sweet dreams. it can't be a bad thing as I have never heard of a 12-Step program for flower thieves.
Still, it seems that I have not reformed, as I imagined. I just didn't need to pilfer flowers while I had a backyard full of them. Now that I don't, I'm back in operation. Old habits die hard.
