The world was filled with peas, mountains and fields covered in tiny spheres. Windows had burst. Cars were stalled. Muffled voices emerged where the unlucky had been caught outside, unawares. Everything smelled green.
In a small room that had once been a bar, two men and a woman were buried waist-deep in legumes. Thousands upon thousands of happily quacking mallards surrounded them. The woman held a battered Arabian-style brass lamp. One of the men carried a miniature piano and a tiny tuxedo-clad man, like a living doll.
"After the first two," said the bartender, "I would've thought you'd know better."
Mims on the Rise of Killer Robots
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