Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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the little leaves they fall

"Sick Bunny Money," read the sign that he placed on the pavement before him each and every night of the month that I happened to pass that corner, on my way to the pub to write, or to the market.

But it had been a month or more since I last went that way. It's warmer at the moment; last time I was on this street, it was so much colder.

Last night

the sign read

"New Bunny Money."

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At least it didn't read something like: "Stewpot Money"


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