You. Yes, you. I want to give you these flowers. Why? I saw you sprawled there next to that sweet sign of yours and it just awed me. Suddenly I knew I had to rush home, put on my nicest gown, and bring you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Really? Don't be so hard on yourself. So what if you live in a cardboard box? Surely you have a vase. An empty wine bottle will do. Is there room for two in your box? Oh, I'm sorry, I was just wondering. I didn't mean to appear forward or anything. It's just that I saw you and it was so like magic. No, I can't explain. It overwhelmed me. Maybe it's your disheveledness, those torn clothes, that gruff look. Oh I'd give anything to run my hand up and down your beard stubble. I feel we belong together, in a box, in an alley, on the roof of a condemned warehouse, watching the stars. I would go anywhere with you. It doesn't have to be fancy. It's the little things in life that count. I realize that now since I started taking the Prozac.

Story #76