Dunes microfiction, dream

The boy stood between the dunes of garbage, watering his tiny garden. He sprinkled each flower generously, gripping the watering can with both hands. Once it was empty, he set it aside and knelt on the ground. He leaned in until his nose brushed the petals and took a deep breath. But no matter how much perfume he poured on the flowers, all he could smell was garbage.