"Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world ...They ain't got nothing to look ahead to...With us it ain't like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us ... If them other guys gets in jail they can rot for all anybody gives a damn ... But not us! An' why? Because ... because I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that's why."
The farmhouse was a small wooden structure with large windows and a low door. Inside, a fat little iron stove stood in the corner and the fire inside flickered cheerfully. A plain sturdy table took up the rest of the space in the small room.
A little way away from the house, tall trees grew in rows. Three different fruits were grown, cherries, apples and peaches. The sun beat down on the vegetable patch, and leafy storks poked up through the ground. Running alongside the fence wiry brambles grew adorned with berries.
There was a windmill with a small half painted shack attached. Pigeons flapped around inside it as though in a panic. Just outside some cows lazily chewed the grassy field. There was a pig pen and a chicken run and a solitary cat eyed the chickens mischievously.
Little wooden hutches also lined the side of the windmill and a happy childlike voice floated up through the open farmhouse window towards where George was standing. 'Can I tend the rabbits George?'
It was Lennie's voice.
George snapped open his eyes and the dream shattered. He stared unseeingly at the blank bunkhouse wall trying desperately to recapture the images. For a while he just sat there but the he sighed and gave up. George frowned slightly as if struggling with a difficult decision abruptly stood up and crossed over to his cupboard. He rooted around inside until his fingers clasped tightly around the cold metal of a gun. George smiled slightly. It was time to join Lennie.