“Want some free meat?” texted Sam.

“What?” came the appropriate response.

“I’m sitting at a coffee shop window on my computer, and this meet delivery truck is stopped in the street right outside,” Sam sent. “He takes away a load, then comes back for another load, and so on. He doesn’t even close the back. Want forty pounds of frozen buffalo meat?”

“They have buffalo meat?”

“I think one of those boxes he just unloaded said ‘Buffalo’ on it.”

“Who delivers buffalo meat?”

“Well, somebody has to, or none of these high-end places have their fancy meat.”

“I guess.”

“And in this case, Willamettte Valley Meats Incorporated. Or specifically, this chubby guy who lifts with his back and looks like he has stiff knees.”

No response.

“So,” wrote Sam, “want some meat?”

“It’s stealing, man.”

“It’s insured. Who gets hurt?”

“The shop that can’t sell meat today?”

“Nobody misses one box of meat.”

“Maybe the guy gets fired. I don’t need the meat.”

“He’s going off again. I’m going to take the meat.”

“Whatever.”

Sam crept lightly out of the coffee shop as the delivery man entered a shop. When he returned burdened by buffalo meat, his computer was gone.