Food? Kill the rabbit. Dad, bless his soul, raised rabbits. He sold the fur — we ate the rabbits. Like chickens which we had also... lard in the pan...and fry very crisp. Chicken or rabbit — sometimes chicken and rabbit.One day the rabbits were gone. We were twelve then and Dad was away for several months. I knew how to trap rabbits and found out they were just as damn dumb as chickens. We ate rabbits and stuff from the garden grown wild; planted by Mom, cared for by God.Dad came back, gaunt,. By chance we end up at the same club, the little basement bar on the riverside. The dance floor is pretty full, the music is loud and the atmosphere is humid. Clothes are flying everywhere and bodies are shaking like there’s an earthquake - typical Monday night in this student city. I'm wearing a tight, white t-shirt with a slightly offensive and cocky graphic, dark blue jeans and white DC trainers. The sweat is turning my top a little see-through as it clings to the dark, toned, hairless skin. More

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