Till the ground, then put two fingers up to it. Leave 'em there for two thunder strikes, and if your finger turns up moist, that there is where roots will grow, no matter how tough the crop. Thing is, you leave your finger there for a second too long and the earth will devour your hand. The ground will swallow your own legs, and the clouds will tear open in agony. That's what happens, though, when you leave your roots somewhere, and you ain't no plant. People isn't meant to be that way. People isn't meant to be plants.
People is meant for corrupted soil, upon that what you call it...asphalt. Evil, spiteful asphalt, that they lay down all the front and up into the corners of the world. Hell, the only place it outta be- in people mouths, ears and eyes, it ain't. I knew only one person of this sort. Guess you could call him a plant- old feller couldn't grow in asphalt, much to my dismay.
