(no subject)
Seymour likes Mr. Chang’s flower shop. It’s a little hole in the wall in Chinatown, beside a restaurant and a souvenir store. He came to L.A. in 1974 and has lived over his flower shop his whole life. Mr. Chang sells Asian perennials at a good price. He keeps exotic cuttings especially for Seymour, who buys them when he has money. (Seymour bets Mr. Chang never yelled at his kids, Eric and Sam, a doctor and an urban planner, respectively.)
The plant Seymour is looking at now is very exotic. It’s petals are small and pink, and its pronounced pod has a fleshy texture. It almost doesn’t look like a flower at all, despite the petals. That pod has a seam - it looks almost like a mouth. A flytrap of some kind? But why isn’t it open?
“Hey, Mr. Chang, what kind of plant is this?”
Mr. Chang comes over. His brow furrows as he adjusts his spectacles. “I have not seen this plant before. Give me second?” He goes to the back. Seymour sees him searching through books.
He comes back, shaking his head, and looks the plant over again. “It is not on my list. My books say I ordered no such thing.”
Seymour continues to examine the plant.
“Do you like it?” Mr. Chang asks.
“You know me, sir, I love a puzzle.” And when it comes to plants, Seymour does. Mr. Chang has listened to Seymour expound on what he did when this plant began wilting or how he coaxed this plant back to health. He always looks interested; Mushnik talked about faking interest in a customer, but Seymour thinks Mr. Chang listens because he genuinely cares.
“How much money do you have on you?”
Seymour checks. “1.95.”
“Ah, why this is your lucky day! That is exactly what this plant costs.”
“Aw, no, sir. You look it up or call whoever you need to, and then tell me what it’s really worth.”
“And have you wait ages? No, Seymour, you have been a loyal customer for years. Take it, take it, please.”
Seymour pays him 1.95. “Thanks so much, sir. I’ll letcha know what it is when I’ve found out.”