It's hardly surprising that this stall on S. Hoover isn't full of blooms - unless they've all already been snatched up by eager frat boys: it's Monday night, when by tradition these guys go round to sororities and deliver votive offerings. I did indeed see one nattily dressed young man in suit and tie with a bunch of cellophaned roses, riding his skateboard off on an errand of chivalric courtship. This in a temperature of 100 degrees, I might add, although it had dropped to 97 by the time I got home.
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