A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique
shop in San Francisco's Chinatown. Picking through the objects on display, he discovers a
detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. He's so intrigued by it that he asks the
shop owner what it costs.
"Twelve dollars for the rat,
sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand dollars more for the story behind
it."
"You can keep the story, old
man," he replies, "but I'll take the rat."
The transaction complete, the tourist
leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of
the store, two rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him.
Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes
another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him. By the time he's walked two
blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels, and people begin to point and shout.
He walks even faster, and soon breaks into
a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots and abandoned cars.
Rats by the thousands are at his heels, and as he sees the waterfront at the bottom of the
hill, he panics and starts to run.
No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep
up, squealing hideously, now not just thousands but millions. By the time he comes rushing
up to the water's edge, a trail of rats twelve city blocks long is behind him.
Making a mighty leap, he jumps up onto a
light post and hurls the bronze rat into San Francisco Bay as far as he can heave it.
Pulling his legs up and clinging to the light post, he watches in amazement as the swarm
of rats surge over the breakwater and into the bay, where they drown.
Still shaking, the tourist makes his way
back to the antique shop.
"Ah, so you've come back for the rest
of the story," says the owner.
"No," says the tourist, "I
was wondering if you have a bronze lawyer."
