Excerpt from Sects on the famous Motel Moon, now considered a minor deity in the neighborhoods along Destiny Way.
I don’t know if you remember there used to be a motel south of the bowling alley on Destiny Way. You were only four when it got an overnight remodeling.
It was a pretty nice place before that, had a big gold sign out front stamped with a rabbit and a moon. They had rabbits for pets. Then they had a rabbit problem. And then the rabbits started attaching themselves to the walls like buzzing, furry leeches, driving their teeth through the drywall to get at the pipes. The owners were trying to convince an exterminator to take a look when, one late night with a full house and a fuzzy lamprey suckling at the radiator, they went to sleep in worn linen and woke up like very kings… draped in furs.
They pushed aside the furry quilt and rose from the furry mattress to stand on the furry floor, which was warm under their feet. The end table’s long ears twitched with the sound of a light switch, and emitted a soft glow that lit up their bedroom. Every surface gleamed with sable fur, and the walls around them subtly pulsed with a huge heartbeat.
In the end, though, it didn’t affect their business model – in fact, the rabbits ended up being labor-saving devices in most cases. And people liked the new rabbit pillows so much they have a side business breeding and training them now. At first there was some concern about an eighty-foot rabbit asleep in a commercial zone, so they propped up the head and put the check-in office underneath; clarified the entryway, y’know? Since the sign was gone. Don’t much need one – it’s not as if you could mistake it for another fractally nested god-rabbit containing a bed and breakfast.
I hear it’s doing much better now than it was when I was a kid. Obviously if you have a dander allergy you’ll want to avoid it, but the Motel Moon was among the best motels in town before the world ended, and now it’s unmistakably the best.
“Some kind of rabbits,” they said. Parasites –
like cicada husks they hung from the walls
along the lines where we had the heat installed –
we found them drinking from the pipes at night.
You can get used to a quivering wall –
give it a kindly stroke from time to time.
As you descend a staircase, scritch its spine.
It leans a bit to catch you if you fall.
One day there was a motel on that street;
the next day a rabbit slept there in its place.
The check-in desk is just under the face –
no, dear, of course the interior’s not meat!
Just rabbit beds and tables, hopping vase –
it’s rabbits top to bottom, every suite.