The man groaned and stretched, his back cracking at the midway-point between his shoulderblades and lumbar, then went back to untangling tired tomato plants from their trellis. As he stuffed another large pile of withering vegetation in the giant paper bag, he heard a rattling on another trellis.

The man spotted a squirrel climbing into the foliage that had yet to be cleared, gnawing through the stem of a half-ripened but dying tomato at the end of the season; one that the squirrels had feasted upon the tomatoes, leaving none for the man. He sighed as he watched its escape. Little asshole.

The tomato was drug across his lawn and to a neighbor's tree, carried high into the branches. The squirrel sat and gnawed a hole into the tomato, lapping at the juices inside. The tomato was quickly discarded, and fell to the yard with its usual tiny hole in the side, ruined just like the rest.