Word: flower
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...three children: Lou Jr., 15, and Wanda, 17). The firm annually sells half a million hats topped with a multicolored umbrella that Brock designed himself. The company also handles T shirts inscribed U.S. OLYMPIC SEX TEAM. In addition, Brock owns a sporting-goods store and a flower shop, both in the St. Louis area, and works as a consultant for Converse sneakers...
...Lion Eat Straw is the story of Abeba, the "African Flower," who is born in rural North Carolina to an absentee father and a resentful mother. That mother soon disappears, bound for Brooklyn. Abeba's first six years pass happily with old Mamma Habblesham, a midwife, in this land of makeshift and make-believe...
...that the record of a life, after all, comes down to its detritus--the stubs of train tickets, Circle Line passes, a faded flower pressed in an old book. The artifacts themselves are not so important, of course; rather it is the spinning web of connections made and missed, the spiritual passings and associations that the artifacts bring to mind. Not stirring stuff perhaps, but resolutely, even defiantly individual. And as Elizabeth Hardwick writes in this beautiful and opaque short book, which is certainly not autobiography but not quite fiction...
...tall lilac-coloured flower had appeared only a few years before, and in the local language there was no word for it. The people still called it 'the new thing' or 'the new thing in the river,' and to them it was another enemy. Its rubbery vines and leaves formed thick tangles of vegetation that adhered to the river banks and clogged up waterways. It grew fast, faster than men could destroy it with the tools they had. The channels to the villages had to be constantly cleared. Night and day the water hyacinth floated...
...woman approaches me at The Rat. She is small and comely, her thin black dress, cut in strips that hang from her waist, revealing in a flash. Saucy red lipstick and a flower painted on her cheek, she is a smiler, coming right up to me and asking if she can illustrate my entire body. She is a body illustrator. Her name is Cretin Hop. At home she gives me cleavage, shows me a giant watercolor illustration of Patti Smith--slightly smudged by sweat--marked painstakingly beneath the knap of a breast...