The vacant spot next to the liquor mart could’ve been a sandwich shop, a travel agency, a cell-phone distributor, or a butcher. It could’ve been anything. But three days before Valentine’s Day, it opens its doors as a flower shop, and that’s nothing short of bloody brilliant. The morning of, I walk across the street to spend fifty bucks on a dozen pink roses, a little box of chocolates, a vase, and a teddy bear. The place is hardly put-together. Sparse shelves in the corners, milk-crate boxes used for tables, flowers propped up in paint buckets. One big refrigerator houses specialty roses with price-tags reaching eighty to a hundred bucks. The other flowers are reasonably priced. There’s