"What are you doing?"

The kneeling man's intense look of determination took the policeman off guard, his brows furrowing at the NYPD officer who stood over him.

"What does it look like? I'm planting a flower, git."

Alfred F. Jones thought of himself as a respectable man. Over the years, his service in New York had put some hair on his chest, dealing with a lot of strange people and a lot of crazies. So of course, he didn't quite know what to do with the man on his knees in Central Park, planting petunias.

"Sir do you... Do you have a permit for that?"

This time the man gave him a look that made Alfred feel as stupid as he sounded. What was he supposed to do? What were they gonna say if he brought a man into the station for gardening? Oh he was planting flowers illegally so I handcuffed him.

This isn't your backyard sir."

"Oh so it must be yours?"

The gardener responded back with dripping sarcasm. He looked awfully strange with a straw sun hat tied down and under his chin by a pale, pink ribbon. His slacks and loafers were smudged with dirt. He took off a glove to wipe his sweating hand on his green sweater vest, then taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the moisture on his forehead.

This man only looks a few years older than me... But geez does he dress like an old man.

The man stood back up, tucking the handkerchief away and untying the hat. The little flowers swayed simply in a slight summer's breeze, protected by sticks stuck in the grass around them to keep from being trampled.

Alfred doubted they'd stop a bicyclist or crowd though. He had put the plant right in the middle of a popular path.

"You need to dig them back up."

"No."

"You need to remove them sir or I'll be forced to-"

"What, are you going to arrest me?"

Alfred could feel himself turning red, but the man turned indignantly to stoop down and water his petunias with a plastic bottle.

Alfred pulled his cap down on his hair with a huff. "Why'd you even plant them? Central Park has plenty of flowers, plenty of gardens. Why you going out here, with joggers and bicyclists and races?"

"They kicked me off the sidewalk."

"Huh?"

"I tried planting flowers in the little patches of grass around trees and on the strips around the pavement. In the city."

"Now why were you doin' that?"

"I have the right to remain silent."

Alfred sighed. He didn't really feel like explaining to him laws and how they worked and how his logic was askew, but he was still interested. What were the man's motives? He didn't seem like a hippie or a stoner. He had sharp features and messy blonde hair like a mop-head, with piercing green eyes.

"You seem too serious to be a tree-hugger..."

"I beg your pardon? Are you harassing me, officer?"

Alfred jumped, shaking his head wildly. He put his hands up in defense, eyes widening. "No sir what I meant was- I didn't mean to- I was thinking out loud!"

The man crossed his arms and raised one of his bushy brows in amusement. He had gotten one of the NYPD's men to fluster on duty just by screwing around.

"What's your name? I'm going to talk to your department about this."

Alfred swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing dreadfully.

"J-jones... Alfred Jones..."

"Well Mr. Jones, my name is Arthur Kirkland. Remember that if you can because if you forgot, you were about to write me up for loitering in a park or something ridiculous like that. You are very easy to manipulate, Officer."

He flicked the brim of Alfred's cap with a smirk, standing with his bag of gardening tools and empty pots slung around an arm.

Alfred was speechless, his mouth even hanging open slightly in a comical fashion. Arthur, unphased, had flipped the tables and slammed it down on the unexpecting policeman.

This man just made a fool out of me!

"How about instead of reporting each other, we take a walk to my flat and you let me make you a cup of tea?"

And this man... Just invited me to his home?