"Leonid" by Eoin ConnollyOn the morning of Leonid’s wife’s birthday, he went into town to buy flowers.
The traffic was dreadful. The florist lacked violets. He asked again, to be sure, but there was no getting around it: there were no violets to be had. The assistant couldn’t tell him when they would have more. It was the latest in the series of disappointments that had come to characterise Leonid’s recent history. He left the florist without any flowers and went to the bar. # When he got home, his wife was asleep on the couch. Her mouth was hanging open. While she slept, he kissed her open mouth. He pulled the blanket, which had fallen down, back around her shoulders. # The next day, it snowed. Leonid woke up and saw the snow and felt like crying. After his morning coffee, he went out into the snow. He made it to the oak tree in the middle of his field. He stood there by the oak tree and stamped his feet in place, wondering at how a crunch created by his own two feet could splinter the stifled world so. # There has never been very much to write about Leonid, although the author does not hold this against him.
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