there is something in the air surrounding people who are carrying flowers. it is never callous, always charged. always saturated with purpose. no one, carrying even a single flower, is without aim. when you are carrying flowers there is somewhere to go, some place to be, some thought to be shared. and not just that. the place where you are going, is a place that is about to be embellished. no matter how grievous the motive. just think of that. does the sheer hopefulness not make you weak in the knees. don‘t you think there is nothing closer to some sort of truth? here is something uprooted, so obviously prone to die, raging with beauty and holding out to joy. and you, me, this feeble human species - here to carry it.