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... d. He lay on the straw mattress with his hands folded on his stomach like a medieval corpse, staring up at the warped ceiling. But the moment he closed his eyes, all he could see was a giant banner reading "FAILURE TO PRODUCE INFLATABLE SQUASH = PUBLIC SHAMING" in bold red letters.
Sleep was not happening.
So by dawn, he sat outside with a mug of something pretending to be coffee, watching the mist roll across his fields. Dew glistened on the tips of his onion stalks, and somewhe ...
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