conversation — 5 February 2020
i am walking through a muddy field. ridges and ruts from large vehicles litter the landscape.
i step in a puddled rut, my sandal lost to its muddy depths as i pull my foot free.
a wind gust blows into my face. i turn my head. a brutalist tower stands to my left. i wonder where it came from and walk towards it.
the entryway doors, built of glass and steel, are open. i walk inside. the interior of the lobby is clean. instead of furniture, piles of rubble punctuate the space. a rabbit sits atop some debris. it appears old: cutouts and nicks on both ear edges, the short hairs growing there are illuminated by window light; bald patches dapple its body. it is wearing an ascot.
the rabbit asks, “why are you here?”
i answer, “i walked through the doors.”
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