In an age-old gift shop on the outskirts of rabbit-kind's kingdom, there's a crater, not born of bombs or meteors, but from the weight of jokes told wrongly.

The stories here get tangled in the echoes. This one: Why don't rabbits get hot in the summer? Because they have hare conditioning. It rains too, inside this hollow.

Wanderers see themselves here: shadows stretch longer than reality, reflecting a thousand hares chasing mysteries, half-stopped beneath a surreal sky.