the fields of flanders


i used to eat these when i lived in belgium. my sugar daddy took me to a restaurant called "The Flemish Rabbit", a fancy place with white tablecloths and mirrors on the walls. i always sat facing the room so he could stare at himself while we ate. i remember being pretty grossed-out when they first brought my plate. flemish rabbits grow really big, unlike the white cottontail bunnies we have over here. it felt like i was eating a mutant. the flesh was really tender, though.

sometimes the rabbits ran alongside the commuter train as we passed through fields of dark, blue-green grass. the soil of flanders still reaps the benefits from all the ground-up human remains that it absorbed during the first world war. they say the grass grows thick around auschwitz, too. my sugar daddy liked to pepper me with these and other facts. i was new to europe and trying to get my bearings, a process of assimilation made that much harder by the fact that i was getting off of coke as well. i sat on the train and nodded my empty head to whatever he said, while i sipped at my five-thousandth cup of coffee and watched as the giant shadows cast by the rabbits turned into prehistoric wolves and took off in every direction, black and aching with hunger.

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