Eli killed the engine, climbed down, and began seeding the rest of the field like any other workday. One seed at a time, working row by row. That’s when he heard the first voice. “HEY! HEY! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
He turned slowly. A woman in high-heeled boots and a leather jacket was stomping across the field, fuming. Her face was red, her arms flailing with the kind of rage that comes not from injustice—but from inconvenience.