Humans of Capitalism

I hate the way that produce smells the sick organic sent that penetrates your mask and sticks to the back of your throat even after you're long gone so that everytime you swallow you're reminded of half expired oranges, peaches with just a whisper of mold, tomatoes that are comparable to hackysacks. It remains and lingers along with the vivid image of poverty stricken families in their beat up cars packed high with papers and trash who try to finagle their way into recieving just one more bag of half-rotten hackysacks so that they might feed their families a bit more.