Some Things Happen Exactly Once

I'm on horseback, being led by a Mexican telenovela star, armed with a high-caliber rifle. Not an uncommon sight in these parts. Our posse of riders passes a couple of backpackers, where I pick up hitchhikers who'd been camping in the woods for a week. Members of the Portland Picnic Society. We nibble at them. Everything vital was saved, to be sold at one of several farmers markets in the LA area. I should feel guilty, but feel triumphant. Some things happen exactly once.
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Flash fiction cut-up from this month's issue of Sunset magazine.