To collapse face down in his garden would not be a terrible way for the mushroom farmer to go. Here and then gone. Roll me up and smoke me when I die. It was not his intention to collapse, however. The mushroom farmer had mushrooms to grow. And share with the hungry.
Say this for the mf, he had spotted the bedraggled purple cauliflowers and delicately transplanted them into this spot where they were now not merely unbedraggled but also thriving, thriving, thRivNG on a cold peak COVID-19 pandemic Southern California winter morning of more clouds than sun; rain hanging in air barely mid-50 degrees Fahrenheit.