Cave Men?

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Dear Readers,

  Today, one of my time normal friends on Twitter clued me in to a New York Times article covering a neopaleolithic movement.  It's not every day you get to write neopaleolithic.  I am pretty sure I have never written that phrase before now.  And they said that this blog could be a dangerous experiment...

  Anyhow, the people in question are trying to live what they would call a "caveman" lifestyle and return to a hunter-gatherer eating pattern, ostensibly for health benefits.  It reminded me of the stories of the Dark Age New York that I've dredged up from the depths of Augury, and I thought I'd share an account I wrote as an example of how people could subsist in that environment.

  Just as one final note before the jump:  I wouldn't advocate the "caveman" lifestyle.  Sure, cavemen could run away from mastodons better than any parkour enthusiast I've heard of, but they also had an average life expectancy below 50 years.  There are tradeoffs in everything, my time-normal friends.

 Always,

 Dr. John Skylar
 Chairman
 Department of Anachronism
 University of Constantinople


I knock the arrow.  It's made of a PVC pipe.  I can still read the pressure rating on the shaft.  With my breath in, I draw it back on my sinew bow.  I am calm.  The deer is calm.  It does not see me.  It sees only the moss in Bryant Park.

I exhale and release.  The arrow flies.  Inside a second, its concrete head connects with the deer's neck.  It starts to run, but my aim was too good.  I've hit the artery.  The deer will not make it far.

When it falls, I get out my linoleum knife.  Every time I see it, I remember the fight that it took to get into the Home Depot, and all of the people who would rather have this knife than me.  I am blessed.  I look to the sky in thanks.  Someone may still be out there worth thanking.

The deer has fallen outside what used to be the 'wichcraft stand.  I'll get a better meal from the animal, this many months after the disaster.  I start to field-dress it, using the linoleum knife.  I get some of the skin and a few steaks ready.

I hear shots.  A real gun.  That means people with power.  People who can kill me.  They are maybe five blocks away.  Will they be willing to trade?  Or will they just want to take?

I look at the 'wichcraft stand.  Looted months ago.  The lock hangs open on the door.  My pulse raised and my heart beating I know that I only have a few minutes.

I grab the deer by the legs and shove it into the stand.  I wish I could show it more respect, but it's time to go.  I will find a subway station.  They are safe for short periods of time.  Usually.  Maybe I can put my net down in the tunnel-waters and catch something worthwhile.  I'm so hungry, but I can't risk cooking the deer meat.  My pursues may smell it.

My leg aches as I try to bolt for the station.  There are no doctors left to fix it.