8.29.2025

The rabbit's name is Dennis Hopper. I approach the cage with an offering of leafy greens. The rabbit grips the bars of the cage. I'm a small man, it says, he's a great man. That's from Apocalypse Now. He follows it up with some shtick from Easy Rider, then Speed. Y'know the only evolutionary advantage you all have, I tell him, is how fast you reproduce. You sonsabitches multiply faster than Gremlins. I'm not even sure I should put water in this dispenser. I'd say he looks crestfallen but that's an archaic word. He doesn't look anything. Not a care in the world but if I let him out he'll zigzag limp over to the shed and disappear into the space underneath. I had rabbit meatballs the other day, I tell him. This has the virtue of not bothering him one bit. I remember when this place had chickens, I tell him. The chickens, well one of them at least, the one I called Tuco, was clever enough to bust out of the coop. Then it would sprint chickenlike toward the Bay. It had ambitions. It wanted to be somebody. It was inspired by Jack London or whoever else you associate with Oakland. The rabbit Dennis Hopper doesn't care.