an innocent face

with an innocent face. He made about eighty dollars and tried to give me half. I told him to keep it, for the veterans. I was not interested in money, and this was not a circus gig, I was doing the lord’s work, and I didn’t mean Jesus, I meant the rabbit overlords.

I just had to do something to break character, not just my character, everyone’s character. Standing on the street corner in a plush, pillow-stuffed, pink rabbit suit whaling away on an out of tune acoustic guitar was medicine, bitches. It had to be revered in ways that would forsake economy.