“It ain’t just because them rats are still on Trump’s ship,” Swamp Rabbit said. “It’s because they look so comfortable there. They ain’t scared the ship’s gonna sink. They’re reserving deckchairs.”

The neofascist spectacle of the Republican National Convention had rattled the rabbit, and my contention that Trump’s presidency is a sinking ship was looking more and more flawed to him. He’s afraid Trump might win the election by stoking the fear and anger of white people who are nervous about street protests by Black Lives Matter and other “far left” groups.

“It’s not going to happen,” I said. “Trump will never lose his hardcore base, the racists and xenophobes, the morons who equate liberty with not wearing facemasks. But there aren’t enough of them at this point.”

I told him most people know that Trump allowed the coronavirus to keep spreading here while other developed countries took effective steps to contain it. That the United States has been burdened with almost a quarter of confirmed covid-19 deaths despite having only four percent of the world’s population.

They realize the economic disruption caused by the virus should have been temporary but instead has turned into a long-term disaster, largely because Trump initially lied about the severity of the problem and never pursued a coherent strategy for fighting it.

They’re aware that Trump will do anything he can get away with to hold on to the presidency, even try to start a race war. His office is what stands between him and a raft of criminal charges.

“How do you know what most peeps are aware of?” Swamp Rabbit said. “How do you know they care? Sounds like wishful thinking to me.”

I glared at him. “I know because millions of jobs have been lost and thousands of businesses have closed. I’d bet my house on Trump losing.”

We were standing near my shack in Tinicum Swamp. A big storm had left a hole in the roof and the front door hanging by a hinge.

“You’re gonna have to put up a lot more than that,” he said.