“First off,” he said, “I want to say I’m sorry about E.Z. He was a good kid. He didn’t deserve…” For a moment he almost lost it as a surge of emotion welled up from nowhere. “I’m sorry he died.” Someone sobbed loudly. “Look, I’m going to get right to it: we have three hundred and thirty-two…I’m sorry, three hundred and thirty-one mouths to feed,” Sam said. He placed his hands on his hips and planted his feet wide apart. “We were already pretty bad off for food supplies. But after the attack by the Coates kids…well, it’s not pretty bad off, anymore, it’s desperate.” He let that sink in. But how much were six-and eight-year-olds really grasping? Even the older kids looked more glazed than alarmed. “Three hundred and thirty-one kids,” Sam reiterated, “And food for maybe a week. That’s not a long time. It’s not a lot of food. And as you all know, the food we have is awful.” That got a response from the audience. The younger kids produced a chorus of gagging and retching sounds. “All right,” Sam snapped. “Knock it off. The point is, things are really desperate.” KidsFoodSpeechDiedSorryDesperateSam TempleSobUnseriousEzUnalarmed Book:Hunger Source: Hunger