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The More They Change - A Flash Fiction

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"It ain't the same nomore."

Joel winced at the words, then checked to make sure granpa hadn't seen it. They were making their way down the rows of corn. Joel bent over to make sure the insect he saw really was a ladybug and not something more destructive. At least there wasn't any worry about weeds.

"I said, it ain't the same nomore."

Joel sighed. "How's that, granpa?" He knew the answer - could say it along with the old man - but granpa was set on telling it anyway. Joel tuned out the lecture, nodding and "um-huh"ing on automatic. He just listened for the transition points to keep his place. Cold going to school. Real bugs. Artificial fertilizer. Hail. Storms, Tornadoes. Back to walking uphill in snow to school. They were almost at the elevator. Thank God.

"Granpa, you go first in the elevators."

As they rode, passing floors of wheat, corn, and soy visible through the plexiglass doors of the elevator, Joel's granpa shook his head.

"It just ain't the same nomore."

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