In the place where I lived my whole life, everything had flowers on it at this time of year. All the trees. All the bushes. The place smelled like a French cathouse of a warm Spring evening. There was so much pine pollen on the ground that you could just about clear it with a shovel. Out of twenty-nine years spent in the South, I think I got a runny nose in Springtime once. Once.
Right now? My eyes... do you read me? Are you copying this five-by-five? My eyes are itching. What in sweet suffering Shiva's name are you people growing here in Hoosierville? Is Indiana not a signatory to the BWC?