The Bronze Rat
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. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he
picks it up and 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 live 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 full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up,
squealing hideously, now not just thousands but millions, so that 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,
grasping it with one arm while he hurls the bronze rat into San Francisco Bay with the
other, as far as he can heave it. Pulling his legs up and clinging to the light post, he
watches in amazement as the seething tide of rats surges over the breakwater into the sea,
where they drown.
Shaken and mumbling, he 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."
Courtesy of Second Amendment Bookstore
