Confounded unwanted map disrupts mental breakdown.

 Lucky sat in the shade of the mother rig, ignoring what Wade was saying, the usual. Trying not think about the other voice he had heard, or received, or sensed, or hallucinated (did I take any thing?), or could be his infection was hacked (unheard of), could be wide gamut perception (not supposed to gifted), or be it his other personalities finally breaking through, (never met them).  Then something unusual happened.  Uncalled for, the old map of his current location faded on, a graphic glowed in red; "'thermos plus pipeline equals hazard symbol'  what?, I've got to get out of here".

Map Off... Clear Cache

Sat up and looked down the row, a beam of humidity filtered light hit the thermos; a jittery white pro-misted polished stainless steel cylinder in the bottom right peripheral of his anamorphic visual field, cast flickering bright green flashes, burnt out to the point of clipping the bottom of the leaves, overlay on.  Twisted bits of information superimposed on the thicket, identify each hog with banners waving in that breeze that strolled through his mind.  A big letter P expertly built out of the soil: map off... clear cache, stands up, bumps into the hand tow and remembers the race is on.

The Joy of Gardening.

Pull the dam thing, tugged and pulses the motor, put both hands behind his back like being hand cuffed and grabbed the handle, trudge, sludge, give it a budge.   Near it, everything dims and swims in the collapsing world of the hypertherm, no sweat, I've gone to far.   Lucky thought he needed to say, to get permission, "need to lay down just for" and crumple in to the cool ground. His right shoulder landed in the soft mud of the well worked soil.  He balanced there, on that thin piece of mud located at the edge of human endurance, that cool mud ,perched four inches deep in the most delightful of locations.

The problem with row 79.

  Lucky puts on his boots, hat, and sunglasses; glugs down as much water a he can, jams the binoculars up into the tool rack, grabs the thermos; all in the fast minute the tower travels down.   After he hooks the tower to the deck's ladder, he hangs by his hands from the floor hatch for a bit, the heat rolls off the deck, he drops down and walks the thorax to the utility hatch in the floor.  Gingerly opens the little hot door and releases a ratchet strap - thump, goes the powered hand tow to the ground.  Stamps down a big a clump of cord grass the hand tow is snarled in;  grabs the handle, pulls the brake and guides it out from under the rig towards row seventy nine.

Strategic ignorance of cognitive dissonance.

       On the sat view of his area, little white dots scattered out at almost even intervals, the seeds of an afternoon thunderstorm.  Humidity and heat push it's way upward into the cool heights so fast that it seemed as if he was watching a time lapse of the event, the breeze died and the Kestrel had to flap its wings to keep it's position, giving lucky a little jolt.  "Strange, how long has that bird been there?" the bird hovered - it's body moving - and head staying still, keeping an eye on Lucky...  The bird gave up, soared down  just across the top of the corn field going out of sight, in search of elevation somewhere out on that flat treeless landscape, he stared on as if he could still see it.  The cloud was still growing at a rapid pace, the breeze was dead, temperature: one hundred five, the overlay magically over each hog showing is approximate position in the field, lucky took a swig out of his beat up plastic water bottle, the shiny thermos glaring in the sun, sealed his bag of chips.  lucky relaxed and systematically crept his view outward to the peripheral, all the sound, movement, heat, humidity, odors, and sub-aural vibrations occurring in real-time; no past, no future, no plan for the next moment, no longing for the past, every sense was engaged in the flow, filling up his briefly empty mind with the minutia of now.    

Oxygen source has bad breath.

Accessing the latest map required a confounded intricately complicated encrypted pass code.  Lucky sat under the shadow of the rig, sharing his immediate space with a circus troop of insects; not altogether enjoying their clumsy, chaotic, precision aerial maneuvers; or that particular, bug brand humor, that required them to crawl into his nose,ears,and eye's; the bugs had finally found their audience and were doing their best to keep his attentions focused on the breath taking, hilarious, drama of the insect follies.  In an eloquent fit, lucky gave a review in the form of a monologue, orated before the ranks and rows of corn.  They just stood there, moving ever so lightly, in the wave of halitosis that would've been called a breeze on a tropical island; exhaling an oxygenated perfume of corn, hot, humid, and sweet; not sweet as in fresh water, but sweet as in a rotten lump of cane sugar.  The map was open and lucky made sure it was to date by zooming in to his location at the cut out, making sure it was his rig and his feet, sticking out from under the row hog hive in the thorax portion of his mother rig.

Psychoactive corrosive Ivy infestation.

Perennial maze had become the crop of choice, very little tillage was needed - in fact many fields went years with out any tillage.  This was great because of the low input cost associated with such a crop made wide profit margins, but problems were developing; the ivy was the worst, vine's grow better than most other plants in a high CO2 atmosphere, easily out performing the perennial maze, several species of ivy have formed a symbiotic relationship, enabling those plants to form a biological mega-structure, many of the symbiont that form that matrix have become extremely toxic borrowing certain traits from the poison ivy and poison oak that make up a substantial part of that web of hideous life, and incorporating them in their own genetic make up, and in do so have showed signs of extreme toxicity.  A new variant of morning glory excretes a psychoactive scent that utilizes the impulse control in the more complex organisms, this is perhaps the most unsettling of the ivy's; "the ivy" as it is called is resistant to all know forms of herbicide, robotic plow systems can be used but the plant material is highly corrosive usually disabling most machines.  Burning it was the most used method of eradication, but the smoke is noxious; the weather conditions to be just right, proper authorities alerted, and any down wind residents fifty mile's or less away - evacuated.