A Tail of Two Bunnies

Ok.

The day is over. It's finished. Kaput, they might say.
You walk to the RTD Bus Station with backpack full of hardcover books and a glazed expression on your face. You got two minutes to catch that bus, or it's a thirty minute wait. You're standing at the traffic light; waiting for the appearance of the "white man" telling you it's ok to cross. Suddenly, you feel a large presence next to you. It's encroaching on your personal space. The lines have been crossed. Your bubble has been burst wide open. You turn to look, thinking you'll just make a casual glance. You see fur. Lots of white fur. And teeth. Big teeth. Square teeth. White Teeth. You see them in pairs. It's two large Bunnies.

A voice comes from somewhere, gravelly and worn.

"Hey, Easter Bunny. Give me a hug."

A dirty man with clothes streaked in dust and road, with hair as scraggly as barbed-wire is aproaching. What do the Bunnies do?

These Bunnies turn. With shiny plastic eyes, they stare at this wreck, this scruffiness, this refuse. Softly, the Bunnies tap their fuzzy slipper feet on the ground, and with no other sound, they embrace the man in their cottony arms.

The man walks away.

You continue to the bus station. You only got a minute left to catch it.