Three hours we spent, absorbing into our skin the wind-streaked torrential downpour that Mother nature felt fit to dump upon us this evening; elbow deep in commercial greenbins sorting through the "compost" that the elite have bestowed upon us as gifts, labeled unfit for sale due to "possibly expiring in the somewhat-near-future."
We battled lightning bolts that could have bested Thor's, fought against hurricane-force winds that propelled rain aggressively into our eardrums. Undeterred, we were soon laden with fresh peppers, broccoli, pears, mangoes, cucumbers, and loaves of fresh-baked bread. I duly concluded:
"Don't give a fuck, son - government's problem."
