“Sallie May, I bagged me a couple of nice chickens.”
“That’s good, Jeb. I dug around and found a big batch of carrots.”
“Way to go, Sallie. I’m gonna go and toss my hook out for a bag of that frozen wild salmon.”
“Jeb, I looked for possum like you asked, but there warn’t none in the meat section. I’m gonna go look in that nest over there for some eggs. And I think I saw a pile of nuts over on Aisle 5.”
“While you do that, Sallie, I’ll see if there’s any low-hanging apples or pears I can pick.”
On Aisle 7 they discovered some of their favorite coffees.
After they went through the checkout line, unhappy at having to pay for what they’d found on their own, Jeb and Sallie headed for home and a delicious dinner.
That evening, as often happens in hunter-gatherer societies, the kin group sat in front of the fire talking about their successes.
“The terrain was flat and in strange rows,” Sallie said. “Then suddenly you’d encounter piles of food. It was weird. But Jeb and I didn’t let ourselves lose focus. He snuck up on the game and proved himself a great hunter, as I filled our basket with roots and herbs.”
“You indeed did well,” said Junior, who was entering adulthood and had completed the rigorous rituals that accompany preparation for a hunting way of life. “I myself came across game that had become trapped in thick ice. It was solid. My woman heated it over a fire and we feasted.”
With that, Hensley, still a child but versed in the rituals of his clan, grabbed a charred stick from the edge of the fire and drew on a sheetrock wall a design of a huge bull that he had seen in a field on one of his rambles.
“This is what you catch,” he said to Junior. “You have done well brother. I tasted your heroism as its grease dribbled down my chin.”
With that they all lay down on fur sleeping pads and prepared for dreams of successful hunting and gathering the next day.