It was a rainy Easter Sunday, but the breaking news was good. It seems Mary Magdelene and her squad rolled away the stone in the Holy Land and found that Jesus’ tomb is empty.

“He is risen,” Swamp Rabbit said.

I nodded. “Either that or he slipped out the backdoor.”

“Don’t matter to me, Odd Man. I just wish he’d took the Easter Bunny with him. That guy is a pain in my ass.”

He told me he woke up this morning and found the Easter Bunny had filled his Easter basket with Peeps, those sugar-coated marshmallow confections shaped like little chicks or bunnies. He’d been hoping the Bunny would leave him KitKats and caramels and jellybeans.

“Peeps are disgusting,” he said. “Even when I wash them down with Old Grand-Dad.”

I told him it was probably our neighbor Naomi who sneaked into his shack and left the Peeps, not the Easter Bunny. Naomi lives on the north side of Bog Water Homes, our development in South Philly, and she used to work as a publicist for the Peeps company, writing clever ad copy.

“She’s been sweet on you for months. She likes her men unwashed and inebriated.”

“But I don’t like peeps who like Peeps,” he said. “And it ain’t likely any woman would be sweet on a guy in my condition.”

“Miracles happen, Swamp Rabbit. Happy Easter!”