• Black Leather Jacket
I bought the gigantic white flowers, succumbing to the idea of a vegetable whose leaves are so beautiful they can be confused for petals. That afternoon, the computer technician showed up for the second time. Internet problems had already cost me a couple of well-paying gigs and a few hundred bucks in hard cash. It was now or never, I hoped, as the guy installed himself at my desk, fingers sticky with goo from a running nose. I prayed he hadn’t had cabbage for lunch again, filling my office with that aroma and forcing me to burst open the windows in a freezing winter as I maniacally disinfected the keyboard after he’d left. Sure enough, half an hour later, the acrid smell began to invade the room. It came and went in whiffs so strong even he noticed it, checking his soles for an explanation. The connection wasn’t fixed but the rancid odour stayed for a couple of days, an alien inhabiting my nostrils. I had started to turn the place upside down in despair when the cabbage flower caught my eye. It was happily sprouting away. I haven’t been able to eat cabagge salad since then.