Kris decided she would buy the flowers herself.
The rainy season had come to China, and Shenzhen had never seemed so dreary. Day and night the rain fell without reprieve as the wind chilled the air.
Going outside, even to the market, meant an instant shower, which long after Kris returned from her outing, she would still feel damp from. Going outside meant wet strands of hair tangling and sticking to her face.
But her apartment was small and drab, and Kris longed for color.
Rumors of pirate vessels forced to harbor in nearby Hong Kong had made their way inland. But the market was so close, and the idea of flowers so cheery, the decision was already made in her head.
In a routine that had become second nature through the weeks of rain, Kris bundled up in an extra sweater, rubber boots, a large hat, and the ugliest orange poncho she had ever seen, in a constantly futile attempt to keep dry.
Grabbing the umbrella that seemed to have barely dried from the day before, Kris headed out the door.
