“2033”

The G2A-V came crashing down in Leon Herschel’s front yard; barely missing his fighter of an avocado tree, which was determined to grow against all odds. Leon learned a thing or two about compost and gardening during his time in exile to The Campus.

“Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going, sweetheart? This is the fifth fucking time this month.” Leon shot a rubber-band at the G2A-V, and a woman screamed; then, babies began to cry. Not one or two babies; no, it didn’t sound like that. The wailing continued in concert, with the queen of the litter leading the chorus.

“Please, don’t shoot us, mister. We’re unarmed.”

“Relax, it’s a rubber-band.”

“Stop yelling! I’ll call them!” The man exclaimed, suddenly shaking.

“Yo…aye, babe. We got another one out here.” Leon’s wife — Malika — and their three children came outside through the front door and the garage, giggling. It’d been years, but maybe, just maybe, this was their day.

“You said if it happened, again, we get to keep it and cook it, Leon. You promised.”

“Not eatin’ no damn swine, Malika. I don’t know how many times I done been told you that. Gon’ and stop that mess, girl.”

“He’s probably no good anyway. Good for nothing but hanging in the garden to keep the crows away.”