I like the idea that in some cities you never know what you're going to see on the streets at night. Not in a dangerous or call-the-police kind of way, but in the selling-baby-rabbits-on-a-cardboard-box kind of way.
So it's late and we've been singing. We come up out of the basement noraebang and get a face full of Seoul's summer heat. The street signs are bright and climbing towards the dark sky, and our ears are ringing a little from that last song. What are we thinking about? I don't know... the joy of having air conditioning in one's home, a big soft bed to sleep in, tiny baby rabbits...
No. Wait. Back up. I was never thinking of tiny baby rabbits - but then I saw a whole stack of tiny baby rabbits and couldn't get them out of my brain. They were so small, too small to be away from their mothers, and some of them were wearing tiny t-shirts. And they were the softest little creatures ever. I know because I couldn't help but pet them.
In the middle of all the oohing and aahing and petting you find yourself asking that automatic reflex of a question: just who walks past this overturned cardboard box covered in baby rabbits at half past midnight on a Friday and decides to buy one?
But then a couple comes along and picks out a matching set of baby rabbits. The man selling the rabbits puts them in tiny t-shirts which are really just glorified tube socks that have had the toes and everything above the heels cut off. The couple then makes the rabbits kiss (really) before placing them in matching shopping bags and walking off into the night.
I'm sorry to say that I was so entranced by the couple actually buying the rabbits that I failed to get a photo of them doing so. The above photo of another couple pondering their own set of matching rabbits will have to suffice.
And no, Stefano and I didn't come home with a matching set of rabbits. But if we did, we wouldn't have made them kiss first.
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