A little after midnight, a shipment of baby’s breath arrived at the Los Angeles Flower Market.

It was not an unusual occurrence. In fact, that shipment arrived at that time each week. But the employees who unloaded the hundreds of bushels from the unmarked truck parked conspicuously on a deserted Wall Street did so with a sense of urgency.

Hastily thrown on a rusted metal cart, the flowers were wheeled into the market. With blue painter’s buckets as vases, the baby’s breath was quickly arranged on the market’s floor.

The baby's breath—along with the tulips, roses and hydrangeas that resided in its immediate area—would be arranged once more before the sun came up, and again later that morning when the public gained admittance to the market at 8 am.

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