Loraine came in everyday to water the ferns. “They are used to a gloomy environment,” she said, “lots of rain.”
The customers were waning, not because the plants ruined the aesthetic appeal of black-and-white floor tiles, as Lenny had imagined, but because Loraine had a habit of saying, “oh, dear,” in regards to the changes brought about by the glistening scissors. Customers pressed self-conscious hands to their shortened hair and Loraine looked back down to her watering can.
Lenny mumbled about the dark ages. (ms)
