We are tottering toward a truer darkness at the edge of the art district on gallery night when a little body of pink light flickers from down the street. It’s an Easter pop-up shop window lit up by neon pink rabbits, one, ten, tens of tens of rabbits. This is the district of broken milk bottles all over the sidewalk. No matter how much light we gather under our T-Shirts, our shadows run into the street like children.
John Darr writes and teaches in Kansas. Kansas!