"Blake," he said, gripping my shoulder and shaking me with urgency. "Blake." "What's up, buddy?" I asked, passing Mindy my debit card. "I like her color. She's yellow. Pretty yellow. Like flowers. She's like a flower, Blake." I stilled at the innocent analogy. There was beautiful simplicity in the comparison. She really was a flower, beautiful and seemingly untouched by the ugliness this world could offer.
