While he waited for her to return, he picked handfuls of yellow flowers beside the brown stubble. Gleaming brown hair. That's my life. His wife's baby breath slowly turned into dragon breath. After all, his family had bales of cotton the size of railroad cars, covered with blue or yellow plastic.
Chicken houses the size of football fields.
Tractor-trailer cars stacked with white chickens, still alive. Numerous Arkansas mountain shanties. On one particular tract of farmland, there was pampas grass and a rotting tin-roofed general store. Not to mention abandoned buildings, too numerous to count. He felt his smiles turning into complex equations, numbers, letters, factors squared.