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About Florence

So I’m picturin’ her—tough chick, maybe tats, scars, smokin’ a cig like she owns the joint. I’d be all, “Hey, you, uh, workin’?”—smooth, Larry, real smooth. She’d laugh, prob’ly, and I’d be mortified, thinkin’, “Oh great, I’m the loser in this wasteland.” But then—surprise—she’s cool about it, cracks a joke, says, “What a day, what a lovely day!” and I’m dyin’ laughin’, ‘cause it’s *Fury Road*, it’s perfect! Pretty, pretty good, right?

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So, I’m fixin’ this old pocket watch, right? It’s a beauty, but the gears are all messed up. I’m cursing under my breath, “Why can’t you just cooperate?” And then, boom! I drop a tiny screw. It rolls under the workbench. Great. Just great. I’m on my hands and knees, lookin’ for this screw like it’s the Holy Grail.

Earth Day: Children, Snowball, and the Power of People