“You know this is supposed to be my thing, right?”

It was late, well past midnight. The crickets were chirping, the air was crisp and cool, and a gentle breeze was rustling the leaves of nearby trees. Shane had wandered out here for a quick drink by himself in his usual spot, by the tiny pond in Cindersap Forest. He certainly didn’t expect to find the farmer there, halfway through a six-pack.

It was common for Shane to drink his worries away. Not the bubbly, upbeat, hardworking farmer. They had work in the morning, didn’t they?

The farmer looked down. Way down. That wasn’t normal. Shane felt a little concerned, but he knew better than to show it. When someone comes out here at late-as-hell o’clock to drink away their woes, the last thing they’d probably want was sympathy. Shane decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

He sat down, his feet dangling over the old wooden dock. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds of wildlife, as he set down his own six-pack of liquor, pulling a bottle out of the box before cracking it open.

There, in the darkness, the farmer confided a secret to him. They were tired of farming. Of agricultural work.

“…You don’t want to farm anymore?”

Shane wasn’t expecting that. The farmer didn’t want to be a farmer anymore. “Why?” He let the question hang in the air as he took a deep swig of his alcohol, his eyes flicking between the farmer and the dark, inky black pond.

Truthfully, Shane knew that this was probably a mistake. He wasn’t exactly the best guy to spill your heart and soul to, but he was all the farmer had at the moment. He stared at them for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed as he lowered his bottle.

This was going to be a long night.