"They're bunnies," the skinny guy said. He had the brown clothes, the brown truck. "Everyone likes bunnies. For one rabbit, we sell six bunnies. Sign here." He tapped his clipboard with the pen. They were hopping on each other, pinkish, on my porch, crowding the door, open a few inches. The lawn was covered with them, you couldn't see the grass. I kicked one back with my boot.
The guy gave me a look. "That one has a heart condition," he said, and touched his chest. "He can't take much stress." I looked at his name, above his pocket, embroidered: N. But when I looked again, it said: Nikolai. It's my name, I thought.
-Steven Barthelme, Nice Boy (Gulf Stream Magazine #3)
Hi from the Herkimer!
This week, write about a dream, but don't say "I dreamed." Make it as real as possible.
The weirder, the better.
Write with guts!
Pink bunnies, surprise oceans, and a strange sense of urgency,