The entrance hall was calm and cool, the marble clean and white.
Well-groomed plants stood in built in pots, the dirty soil covered by tasteful wood-chip. A flash of colour caught my eye in the sea of soft naturals. A fluorescent post stick note, stuck next to one of the pots, one of the pots with an empty hole, a hole next to a now sad looking lily, lonely in it’s now too big pot.
The post sick read: Plant stolen and then the date, it even had a little arrow, pointing to the hole, to make sure the reader was in no doubt as to where the plant had been stolen from.
I came back a week later and the post sick was gone and in its place: a newly planted lily, its stem chained down.