Write a four line poem about something that has been: squeezed.
We had a really good market today, despite the extra work involved. The setup and take down weren't actually the worst part though - it was having to go down two or three stalls to find enough space every time I needed to get out from behind our table in order to replenish fruit crates at the front of our stall.
Normally that's just a matter of stepping around our own table, which takes about ten seconds. But we were all so tight together today that it was much more of a process, especially when the crowds were thick.
Anyway. We moved a lot of fruit and didn't bring much produce back home, so I'm not in much of a position to complain.
We're smushed in tight,
There's barely room to breathe;
To be honest?
I just really want to leave.