I stand on the borderland between city and desert, not sure which is less appealing. I turn to my right and look down at the rabbit next to me. “Where should I go?”
“Well, I live in the desert, so you’re welcome to come with me. I’m only going about a mile that way.” The rabbit motions straight forward with a deliberate nod of its head.
“A mile? I don’t know if my shoes are suitable for walking in the sand that long. My apartment is only two blocks behind us, if you don’t want to make the trek to your place right now.”
“Thank you for the offer, but it’s time that I head home. If you’re not coming with me, I’d like to bid you adieu. If you’re ever in my area, come on over and we can talk about life some more.
“I’d like that.” The rabbit begins the journey back to the spot of desert it calls home, and I stand watching until it hops over the top of the closest sand dune. I turn around and look at the city. I immediately notice the soggy cigarette butts left around before it rained last night. Did the desert see any of that rain? Common sense would say yes, but common sense doesn’t allow for a dialogue with a rabbit.
WHARVED 