Liminal Lives of Rabbits

In a few minutes, predictably, the air brakes gave an angry hiss and the ton upon ton of steel strained to stop the momentum of its own barreling progress. The train finally came to a stop in the open desert.

Tomatoes.
Chop, chop, chop.
Okras.
Thinly.
Chop, chop, chop.

There’s a Hudson News out in the desert, and you can go there. Let me tell you about it. It’s located way out along the highway, miles and miles away from anything else. The sign on the road won’t say…