The merchant pulls the blooms out of reach to tap their chin with the petals.
"The price? Let's say... the memory of your first love."
You wryly remark that you'd happily give up the memory of your most recent ex.
"I can take those while I'm at it, if you like. Call it a gratuity."
You quibble a little over prices, anxious at the thought of losing a formative memory. But the merchant doesn't budge. They don't seem irate to be haggled with, but after several minutes of talking in circles they see fit to clarify their position.
"I'm afraid my prices are nonnegotiable. But you're welcome to shop around... If you can find a better price, I'll even match it!"
The wide and silent void stands in satirical punctuation to their gracious suggestion.
