Human Writes: Viral
Guns N' Rabbits | Non-Fiction | Fresh Soup
The guy who lives on the ground floor of my apartment building is a social media manager, or a digital presence enhancer, or some other thing. Whatever it is, he’s young and sharp and when I run into him in the lobby, he always says hi and offers free tips. Before he got into social media, he was a personal trainer, and he likes to say things like “you really should work on lengthening your hamstrings,” or “how about doing something about that cardio endurance, eh, Keret? You’re panting like a dirty old man.”
When I bumped into him yesterday, we looked at each other silently for a moment. It was stressful. Needless to say, I’ve put a lot of effort into my hamstrings and cardio, but I wasn’t sure if the improvements were visible yet. This time, though, my mentor-neighbor was aiming beyond my corporeal existence. After surveying my physique with a critical look, he said, “I think you should make more use of your rabbit.” I hadn’t yet fully grasped this somewhat enigmatic comment, but I could already feel the anger mounting: a rabbit is a friend, not a packet of wet wipes, and we Kerets do not “use” friends, we stand by them with a handful of fresh spinach leaves and a pile of baby carrots.