Vermillion

Ia (Insignificant aide, curses be unto him and his infidel offspring) grunts as he drops the two hundredth bag of potatoes at the edge of the large pile in the pantry. The evening sun lights the air with the dust from the potatoes. Their earthy odor is thick, and Ia's back feels like its going to come undone.

M (Also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) is standing at the pther doorway, surveying Ia's work with increasing disdain.

M: What kind of shit have you been smoking, you ass! Youre slow as a cow today.