(Jana and her men get out of the SUV and approach Hardison, who is dancing with a set of earphones in as he hums to himself, until he sees Jana and the goons)
Oh. Hey. Could use a little help, neighbor. Had myself a snafu. Or you could just stand there like bougie city folk, coldhearted, unhelpful.
(Jana motions to one of the goons and gestures toward the nearest bale of hay)
Get this. (approaches Hardison) You don't look like a farmer.
Excuse you? Miss city and sadiddy? Ain't you heard of the urban farming revolution? See, look here. Big business calls food a hormone sandwich with a side of pesticide fries. I'm trying to bring it back. Real chicken. You probably eat just an old butter nugget.
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