Rabbit

 I remembered a man I worked with in New York this morning. He was huge. Taller than me. Wider than me. He had multiple piercings, short spiky air. I only remember one tat. He had a bar code on his arm, which apparently worked. The first time I saw him I wondered if needed to worry. 

He was the sweetest man. 

His uncle had been a butcher and taught him how to break down different animals. 

We had rabbit on the menu one month. I was on one side of a table, chopping. I realized he wasn't moving. And then I realized there were tears running down his cheeks. I looked at his cutting board. There was a rabbit. The company had skinned the bunny and removed the head but not the feet. The fuzzy little feet. Something about those feet broke him. He was a wreck. It was ironic in so many ways. 

He pulled it together. 

We got our prep done.

Dinner was served.