since the thing perhaps is to (purchase) flowers and not to be afraid (слэш)

He doesn’t even look at anything beyond Katsuki Hothouse and Florist etched in brilliant gold script on the glass door as he wanders past kitschy gifts, buckets of peonies, roses, lilies, and orchids. As Victor half-shuffles, half-stumbles to the register counter he notes the rows of fat emerald-green succulents, one of which has a small crack in its pot.
Sober, happy Victor might think it’s a metaphor. Drunk, angry at the world Victor pretends he can’t see it. Swaying a little, he drops all of the cash in his wallet so that the wrinkled, imperfect bills and heavy change clunk onto the granite.
“I need a bouquet that says fuck you in flowers.”