Crack, crack, crack. “Oh, for f*ck’s sake,” mumbles Lisa, and reaches for her gun. Crack. The rabbit tumbles and rolls, coming to a stop on its side, back legs twitching.
“His time’s up,” cackles Ray, and leaps out of the cab to fetch it. He’s a connoisseur of marksmanship, and he feels the same way about a difficult shot as other people do about pinot noir, or arias by Puccini.