walking after midnight on scalabrini ortiz

On Scalabrini Ortiz, about halfway between our house and the hostel where Manu works, there's a sidewalk stand that sells flowers and incense and other fragrant things. It's inconspicous enough, nothing eye-catching to set it apart from any other flower stand in the city. Nothing famous-looking, no plaque marking it as the oldest, best, most traditional. No apparent need to stay open long hours to cater to hoards of life-long loyal patrons or swarms of tourists crowding around to catch sight of the "Famous Buenos Aires Man-Eating-Flower Stand" or the "Plaid-Clad, One-Armed Florist." There's nothing freak show or David Lynch about it. Nothing hyphenation-worthy, nothing special. No, nothing like that.

Still, as I was walking home from the hostel with Manu one night in the wee small hours of the morning, after having taken him dinner while he was working and stayed drinking cerveza until he got off, we passed this flower stand and it was open. All the surrounding storefronts were dark and locked, and it seemed to me odd that it was open at this time of night on a day of the week (Monday) when I could imagine little else open aside from the windows of drug dealers' vans, the legs of local transvestite prostitutes, and the McDonalds across the street. What did this flower and incense and who-knows-what-else stand have in common, I wondered, with said windows and legs and McDonalds?