< 1 min read
Rose Silverstein was not known for her green thumb. Every plant or flower she tried to grow would just wither and die an untimely death under her care. But Rose was never one to give up hope.
One morning, her husband Marvin welcomed his friends over for a poker night when he say a row of new plants Rose had purchased, all lined up by the window.
“You know what I call that?” Marvin said do his friends, motioning to the plants. “Death row.”