It is better to choose one thing or the other, when you
      have the option of two - two state highways, two license 
      plates to pick from, two lives he could pick from, one by hiding,
      one by burning - this is what he chose, which is why he is burning.
      The man is wearing his rabbit’s foot charm and says we are in
      my country now and this is true.
	
            The sun streaks its way towards the horizon,
            and they drive towards it, choosing the second
            state road. The change they have 
            is enough to buy two Heineken and a
            Camel blue. They lay in the bed of the truck when it is night,
            when it is safe to be out together, watching the stars fall.

      The boy tells him they are at the center of the Universe - like Tenochtitlan,
            like Manhattan - and for a second, in that western country, Oliver believes
      it. And he turns to whisper something that tastes like the liquor on Henry’s
      lips and finds that it, too, has left his body. The cigarette falls to the ground.
      Beneath them, the plains alight. All the rabbits in the world alight.

            It is better to run from the fire than to become it.
            It is better to dream of death knocking at your door,
            in the dream where living means holding, and death
            means a game all the livestock play. All this means
            promise, or prophecy. The rabbits run their roles.
            The scene is set. All their open hands. All their open eyes.