After leaving the mother and daughter, she turned her attention to a college-aged man who was in the midst of refuelling his station wagon…a vehicle, she saw, that must have been loaded with everything he owned.

She took her bouquet and made a firm loop knot in its string.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” he said back.

“You like blue. You like red and green and yellow and white and silver. You can tolerate deep purple and even magenta—and on a rare day can accept pink. But blue is you. Blue is definitely you.” She took his hand off the pump handle, and slipped the bundle’s loop around his wrist.

“I love them—”

“That’s right!”

“—But I can’t take them in my car. I don’t have the room.”

“Which is why you’re taking MY car.” She pointed to a convertable, whose roll bar was also lavishly decorated with balloons. “You’ve been driving too long today. Please, accept my hospitality along with the balloons.”

“How do you know so much about me?”

“I’ll tell you. At my place.”