The very next morning, as Eli made his way toward the southern field, something strange caught his eye: a small silver car, half-tucked into the edge of his property. The soil was damp from a light rain the night before, and the car’s tires had left deep impressions in the earth.
It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. The SilverMart parking lot had overflowed, and someone—maybe in a rush, maybe just lazy—had decided Eli’s field looked like a convenient alternative.
He walked up slowly, brushing his fingers over the crop stems nearby. Some were flattened. Others would recover. Still, irritation prickled in his chest. He stood nearby for a while, arms folded, until the driver—a young man in a hoodie—came out of the store, heading for the vehicle.
“Morning,” Eli called out. The man jumped slightly, surprised. “Oh. Hey.” “You know this is private land, right?” Eli said, not unkindly. “Not really a place to be parking.” The driver looked around as if noticing the field for the first time. “Oh. Sorry, man. I didn’t know. The store lot was full.”