The tent was visible from the riverbank, but that didn’t bother him. His piece of land wasn’t so different from camps set up by travelers or beggars under the bridges of the city’s beltway, and as long as they didn’t bother anybody, no one stopped them from sleeping there. The island was far from the collection of historical buildings just visible from the other side of the river. Across from him was the tail end of the city: ugly new apartments, a shopping mall, a small stadium. He was also visible when he was on the river island, and children sometimes waved and shouted to him from the embankment, asking for a ride in his canoe. The non-inventor would respond with enigmatic movements of his head. The attention of those children was flattering but also worrying. He didn’t want them to discover what was happening to the rabbits, which could be glimpsed from the riverbank; they were like small white balls colliding with each other. At night, if there was a moon, the gleam of their coats could be mistaken for the white of the birds’ plumage, giving the impression that the avians were sleeping on the ground.