Many years raced by. Neighbors and birds came and went. A new shopping mall popped up down the street. Daughters and sons scurried off to college. The one constant was the crowd of cherry red rose bushes sweeping up and down the sides of Akio's house. A few of the bushes, with their futuristically scorched leaves, were a tad less than constant. Nevertheless, the perfume of roses permeated the air every day in the summer. The townspeople were avid fans of the household's rosebushes. Grandmothers with sticky young children stopped by to admire the blooms. Tourists stopped when they came upon the bushes, the only pause in their entire trip. Little bees, dressed in the finest pollen, visited the flowers to rub their faces on the petals. Every day, a man would come out of the house. With his skinny yet cute frame, he'd stare at the roses for a few hours. Sometimes he took out a sketchpad. Though he peered at the roses, a smiling man with metallic features appeared on his paper. Before he went inside again, he whispered a 'thank you' under his breath. After all, the bushes were his presents. The perfect presents, really. After all, those roses were the most simple, enjoyable, and beautiful things anyone, destroyer or maker, could ever create.