It’s not too late to buy your sweetheart a Valentine’s Day bouquet. That’s what Friendzo says, at least. I wouldn’t trust him, though — not without knowing where the bouquet’s coming from. Last time I went with Friendzo to buy a bouquet, we went to Hoboken to meet up with his cousin, Clamzo, a merchant.
Clamzo was just what I expected — 6’8″, ginger-bearded and thin as a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. What I wasn’t expecting was his flower collection. Friendzo had told me Clamzo’s metier was begonias, and yeah, they were nice. But then I saw the squid.
A cylindrical aquarium, as tall as a man and as wide as a really fat man, held nine small, blue squid, jetting about like Higgs bosons. I asked Clamzo how much for a pair.
–Ten clams, he said.
I pulled out a Hamilton and started picking out the nimblest squid, but Clamzo just shook his head.
–Ten clams, he repeated.
I knew then whence came Clamzo’s name.
I called my clam guy, Rudy and he came running. I told him what I needed and asked what he was doing in Hoboken. He said he was here for the campfire and left as quickly as he came. Friendzo told me he was going to a diner for some grits ‘n’ whey, so I tagged along. The grits were outstanding but the whey merely decent. After we finished we got back in the Geo Tracker and headed back home, squid and bouquet in our respective knapsacks. I wondered whether I hadn’t done my squids a disservice by separating them from their fellows. I pulled them out and gazed intently at their big eyes. What’s next?, they seemed to ask me. What hearts will I find, what great fjord will I gaze upon? I put them back and stared out the window as great heavy drops of May rain slanted across the glass like amoebae.
