The Odyssey for the Postliterate Age

A tall man stands upright in a dimly lit and crowded hall, beating a thick, long staff against the floor in steady rhythmic intervals, his dreadlocked hair swaying dramatically to and fro. In between beats he grunts a word or two, as the surrounding men roar in response, expressing what may be either pleasure or possibly indigestion from the sumptuous meal strewn on the tables in front of them. Fire flickers all around, just barely piercing the prehistoric darkness.