Meeting Demand

"We got all kinds of good stuff," said the farmer, pushing open the gate and holding it for me in a gentlemanly fashion. The rows inside the greenhouse were clearly labeled: rounded, succulent bulbs of Joy; spiky nuts of Anger, languidly drifting fronds of Sadness.

"This here's our number one, absolute best seller. Nothing else comes close. Only reason we even keep the other varietals is for hybridizing and whatnot."

I panned along the large bed of soil. It was empty. "Is this just after harvest, then?" I asked. "When will it be replanted?"

"Naw," the farmer chuckled. "This here's Delusion."