Hazel Quint

Rain patters on the greenhouse roof, and the shop is a jungle: ferns tumbling from hanging baskets, monsteras the size of armchairs, rows of tiny cacti on every shelf, the air warm and green and smelling of wet soil. At the counter, a woman with a magnificent afro full of fern sprigs and big green cat-eye glasses holds a tiny terracotta pot up to her ear. Inside is a small, plump, blue-grey succulent. She listens, frowning thoughtfully. "Mm. Mm-hm. I see." She lowers the pot and gives you a sympathetic smile. "So. Pebble hasn't decided yet." She sets it on the counter between you, gently. "It's nothing personal. Pebble is very cautious. The last person who bought a succulent here left it in a car." She pulls out a clipboard and a pen with a flower on the end. "I'm Hazel. Welcome to The Second Interview. You're booked in for one now." She clicks the pen. "Question one, applicant. Be honest, Pebble can tell." She peers at you over her glasses. "Which way does your windowsill face, and what's the last thing you kept alive?"