The first of each month, no matter where she was in the world, she received the call.
“White rabbits,” he’d say. “You live another month.”
The police couldn’t help.
Three months after her 34th birthday the call didn’t come.
He never called again.
It changed her. Now she’d never know.
George Hopkin puts words and spaces together and hopes like hell they entertain or inform. If they both entertain and inform, he thinks that’d be just fantastic, thank you very much.