What’s the point of speaking of seasons here in a land where our commuter pods are kept in special chambers, attached to the climate controlled dwelling, so you can get safely inside before the gate to the outside would opens, by the push of a button? Where stores are all connected inside the mall, and office buildings with windows that cannot open? There’s a handful of mexicans (Guatemala? Columbia? Whatever) that trim the grass, like radiation-resistant goats.
Can love get in, when
This chicken’s raised in factories?
meh, pass the pepper