![]() ![]() ![]() Admittedly, I had cased the joint many times prior-yet always in the company of my law-abiding father, tagging along as he purchased his chrysanthemums each spring and assorted yard flowers every autumn from the same grizzled arborist who lorded atop his cast-iron shop stool with all the conceit of Lucullus overseeing his orchards. In hindsight, the store’s design posed a hazardous nuisance for an eight-year-old: row upon row of ventilated cardboard sluices emblazoned with images of blossoming daffodils and dahlias, each containing dozens of embryonic tunicates. Although my loot consisted of precisely one rainbow parrot tulip bulb pinched from a suburban plant nursery. Okay, that may be an overstatement: I didn’t hold up the neighborhood piggybanks or kneecap kindergarteners for their lunch money, and the closest that I came to prison was a family excursion to Alcatraz. ![]() I was an unrepentant grade-school bandit. ![]()
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