Shrieking, screaming, shattered emotional woman runs down her long drive, her petunias have been stolen and her life has been destroyed. Mobile in hand she phones the police, they are private, they arrive in minutes.
Mrs B, what is wrong, one of them asks. He puts an arm on her shoulders, comforts the lady, “so what is the matter Mam,”
my petunias, my petunias she points, to the hole in the ground, they are gone. Her award winning flowers, the ones she was going to enter in the show (be dramatic).
Five minutes away, a child lies hungry in the Ghetto. so much for Mrs B’s petunias, amen.