EXT. WISCONSIN PRAIRIE — DAY —
Wide sky. Tall grass swaying in the wind. A meadowlark sings. Then: BOOTS cut through the prairie. SURVEYORS in suspenders cross the field with tripods, stakes, rolled development plans.
Eh. I’m sure he’s fine.
Who ever really knows what’s in a man’s heart?
I swear to Hecate, this is my last season here.