>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."
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