“Y-You stepped on my mushrooms. You ruined my deal.” “I—” I can hear his bafflement. “You’re gonna need to explain that last one to me.” I clench my teeth. “Una.” It isn’t a reprimand. It’s—tentative. A hesitant prompting. “Didn’t you see them? You made me drop my morels, and then you crushed them, and you scared off my buyer, and you made a scene, so I’m never going to be able to go back to the farmer’s market, and everything I’ve worked for is gone.” I snap. “Like that.” When he speaks, his voice is very deliberately calm. “You were selling mushrooms?” “Yes.” “Like magic mushrooms?” “No.
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