When God was a Rabbit

by Sarah Winman

She was highly skilled at reading palms, she said, tarot cards and tea leaves too. She could read anything; it was her gypsy blood. ‘Books?’ I asked naïvely.

‘Where are your shoes?’ she asked. ‘They took them from me,’ he said. ‘It’s procedure. In case I did anything to myself.’ ‘What? Like trip yourself up?’ she said, and they both laughed and knew that it would be all right

‘I simply like having erections. I haven’t been doing much with them, but I find them a comfort. Rather like a good book. It’s the anticipation, really. I don’t even have to get to the end.’