I dreamed the city was made of old farm tools

I was walking through a city where every building was built from rusted ploughs, broken harrows, and wheelbarrows fused into walls. The rooftops were bent scythes, catching the light like blades. No one else seemed to notice — they moved through it all as if it were normal. I stopped at a corner shop, and the cashier handed me a loaf of bread wrapped in newspaper with a headline: 'Soil Health Index Down 12%'. I didn’t wake up until I tasted the bread — it tasted like rain on dry earth.