“We used to make those, drawing our little hands on a piece of paper and attemtping to color in the lines.” Kyle pointed at the sewn turkey on the shelf. “But now we can just buy them, badly made in China, or some other unpronounceable country.”

The shelf stacker gave him an odd look, and kept putting Bratz dolls on the sleves.

“And no one says Thanksgiving anymore (if you don’t count the calender hanging on your wall), they all say Turkey Day, because you eat turkey.” Kyle went on, feeling the need to express his true feeling about the holiday. “At the first Thanksgiving they had a lot more than just turkey, you know!”

The shelf stacker, now done with his duties, stood up and inched away from Kyle.

“But what happens if you can’t afford a turkey, and the local community center ran out before they got to you?” He pondered, watching as the shelf stacker scrambled away from him. “What would you eat, hot dogs? Salami sandwiches?”