PREVIEW
... s the floor one last time, watching the wooden tiles shine under the soft lights of the tiny flower shop. My shoulders ache, my fingers sting a little from the cold water, but a small satisfaction warms me. It’s done.
I straighten, stretching my back until it cracks. I’m Neon—your classic broke high-school student, part-time florist, part-time cleaner, full-time survivor of life. I untie my apron, fold it carefully, sling my old bag over my shoulder, and head toward the door.
"Go ...
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