“That’s a lot o’ bamboo,” Thursday O’Beefe said as he poked his head through a bush.
“It’s all that damn sun,” the farmer said, the wheat feather in his mouth bouncing up @ down. “Thought they were s’posed to control it. T’s no wonder our economy’s wearin’ all that black makeup & listenin’ to that there Bauhaus. I can bet you the government’s ‘hind it intentionally. I tell ya, that Chicken Medium’s a crook.”
O’Beefe’s eyes shined.
“I know someone who can get rid o’ that bamboo for you for free.”
For once the farmer turned his closed eyes ‘way from the grass he was predicting @ & aimed curious eyes @ O’Beefe.