Twist the cigarette butt on the wall, and the sparks immediately spread like a prairie fire, crawling all over the room, ready to go. I walked out of the flower shop, closed the door, and the white wooden house turned into a sea of flames. I stared at the flames for a while, then turned and left: Soon after the flames are gone, this place will be the same as before I came, and people will not remember that there was a flower shop here. The flames will not only devour the illusion I built, but also eat people's memories. The fool just now would be surprised to find an extra handful of roses in the car.