Green tongue

When V delicious came to Olympia, the gods decreed it a greens zone suitable for foraging.


The chatty confessions started almost immediately: “My name is Karen and I’m not a vegetarian. But I heard there was free food…”


No, food.


Sausages! That’s more like it. So, what’s the secret ingredient?


The secret ingredient is love? How sweet. Love and methyl cellulose.


The toothpicks were edible, too. And hygenic.


The helmet was for diving head first into the crowds.


Buskers were allowed as long as they were organic.


Workshops were available on how to make money from stretching.


There was brisk business from those who couldn’t afford myrrh.


Passive exercising is a real growth industry.


Admitting gluten intolerance proved joyfully cathartic for some, shaming for others.


Taking orders for personal hovercraft.


Research shows you can eat more in bed if you have a lap.


They have healing powers, but as a side effect they make you feel old.


What the vegan police wear when they walk their beat.


The Corrupt Sweet Potato, the stall across the way, was proving a bigger draw.


It was tacitly understood the judges could be swayed by a little extra frosting.


Too many burnt tongues.


Massage was available to those who could prove need.


VIPs got allotments.


More popular than the lima variety.


It’s not easy being green, as this once bountiful salad shriveled by an omnivorous public’s hostility shows.

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