DALLAS — A bundle of long-stem roses hung upside down in Luz Rosario's gloved left hand, the hand nearest her heart.
Her right hand, also gloved, tapped the stems, shaking the blooms, which were chilled, damp and as red as a winter's blush.
What secret, carried within the romantic blossoms from exotic Guatemala, might tumble to the white paper on the table below, coaxed into the light by her gentle entreaty? Would the orbs of tightly closed petals yield proof of love? Or promises? Or excuses?
Or insects? Little dark specks, anyway, perhaps the tiniest members of some family of voracious herbivores or parasites, lying stunned and awaiting resuscitation in order to obey their biological mandate on newfound shores.
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