I began to pour the whiskey; the drought detrimentally hits my psyche. My melancholy was a symbol of how low things had gotten.
Yet, the history of farming has shown us we could still get a sign that things would get better; maybe we will eventually have a week of rain where our crops would thrive, and we could slide into the red with our harvest. Our human rights end as we want to experience them, end with the constant onslaught of a tested life, bringing hardship to the people. Thankfully, the government helps us during these crises with subsidies.