Sorghum's a thing again, primarily for livestock feed, a little bit of fuel production, and gluten-free food. Who care about popping the crop like popcorn, given the platelets supposed to keep you bleed-free along with the vast array of responsibilities you have clawed your way upward to earn. In the monster habitat you cleave to as if a thread of proof of your aloof talent recognized only by pragmatists successfully hypnotizing others to buy in after all too little scoping out the facts. Sweetness not meant to be snorted eventually comes home to roost. Blimey say the foreigners when speaking among themselves, what are you on, mate? The likely answer will be trotted out if nothing else to defer the conversation until later over dinner when enough wine will make some of the players more agreeable than they were when you found them, itself a kind of curse more than a cure.
A finger snap to craft some winded reality and lie there untouched
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