The Small Plot
The land was half an acre of shit. Mark knew this because the guy who rented it to him, a guy named Frank who had been farming this patch of Ohio since before Mark was born, had looked at the soil and said exactly that: "It's shit. Poor shit, but shit." Mark had nodded and signed the lease. Forty dollars an acre. Twenty dollars a month. He could afford that. He couldn't afford anything else. He...
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