A white horse is decorated like a unicorn, trotting around the small group of folding chairs with a “horn” half falling off its head, a multicolored mane and tail, and letters scrawled across its flank and shoulders in rainbow letters that read “Rupert.” Rupert. The unicorn in my fever dream when I was twelve. I told Brant about it, and he’d laughed. He’d laughed and evidently taken immaculate mental notes.
