However, in the corner of the lunchroom, Greta was watching. She was one of those simpleton housewives whose hair was parted neatly down the middle and ran down her neck, switching direction at her shoulders in something of a bob.

What she was most concerned about was the five boys preoccupation with the principal’s cheeseburger. She stepped out of the shadows. “Come on,” She said, yanking her son’s wrist. “Everyone come with me.”

The vegetarian club followed her into the school’s parking lot and all jumped into her Ford Windstar. “Where are you taking us mom?” Her son asked, his blue eyes squinting in the sun’s glare.

“You think it’s okay to eat a cheeseburger?” She chastised. “We’re going to the local processing plant on 23rd and Hooper. Then tell me what you think.”

“See that cow over there beyond the barbed wire?” Greta asked as the vegetarian club left the van. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Yeah! Look Steven..” Greta’s son exclaimed, pointing at the cows.

“Well they’re slitting his throat later today.”