irma vass · florist · est. 1921
irma vass closes at six and stays till eight, tidying. the lavender goes in the corner where the chemist's coloured glass throws onto her bench. she will tell you, if you ask, which flowers travel and which don't. the answer is fewer than you would think.
she keeps the funeral arrangements in the back; only weddings and small good news in the window. the fern at the top belongs to no one — she has had it since she was apprenticing, and it has outlived the woman who sold it to her.
field-note: the yellow bucket has a slow leak. she has known for a month. she likes the small puddle.
a lampshade rose · a mourning iris · pressed flower · herbarium · a garden