Stomach asks, in a language of grunts and growls, for meat that has been stalked, for berries gathered from mountainsides. That's just too bad. I'm in college, over here. I haven't got the time to sharpen a spear to go stab a fish with, and it would be even more difficult to find a pool of fish raised to eat something they should eat. Here are my misadventures in trying to feed a body in a world that has forgotten its language and my musings about that world, in general.