The Bronze RatA 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."