The man was watching him cry. That was where the geranium was supposed to be and it was a man in his undershirt, watching him cry, waiting to watch his throat pop. Old Dudley looked back at the man. It was supposed to be the geranium. The geranium belonged there, not the man. “Where is the geranium?” he called out of his tight throat.
‘What you cryin’ for?” the man asked. “I aint never seen a man cry like that.”
“Where is the geranium?” Old Dudley quavered. “It ought to be there, not you.”
-Flannery O’conner, The Geranium