When the drone of the crush is in the air, dignity takes a back seat fairly quickly. The smorgishborg of ancient military rations and barely palatable scavengings takes its toll. Long gone are the days when we adhered to our mothers exposition that dessert comes after dinner, or eat your vegatables. Even expiration dates are meaningless. If it's edible, and it won't kill you, it will provide fuel to your system for one more day. Maybe that one extra day is when the sun comes back. So for now, we wrack our digestive systems with the rancid moldy, and dry. To live through the crush means we fight with cramps and spazms. We steal from vultures, and eat anything to survive. We are closer to our hunters than we would like to admit.