As a boy, Claude had planted two rows of the fentil sprouts in an open meadow beside a stream where he assumed they would be safe.
One hundred years later Claude returned and discovered his sprouts had grown and were now surrounded by strange stone structures.
In his anger, he stepped into a rectangular pool the size of his foot and fell sideways crushing the rock buildings.
He sat wearily up, brushed mangled cars from his face, and took a bite of a fentil sprout, savoring the taste. Beneath him, people scattered in all directions, covered in wet sprout leaves.