The Absurd Harvest
Frank lived his life by the clock. 6:00 AM: Coffee. 6:15 AM: Feed the cattle. 6:45 AM: Check the fence. His farm in Nebraska was a monument to the unremarkable. The soil was a predictable shade of brown, the corn grew at a predictable rate, and Frank’s emotions were a flat, grey line. He didn't hate his life, but he didn't love it either; he simply occupied it, like a tenant in a house he...
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