A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique shop in San Francisco's Chinatown. Among the objects on display, he discovers a detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. Intrigued by its uniqueness, he asks the shop owner the price.
"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the owner, "and a thousand dollars more for the story behind it."
"You can keep the story, old man," the tourist replies, "but I'll take the rat."
After completing the transaction, the tourist leaves with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and begin following him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he quickens his pace. With every sewer drain he passes, more rats join the pursuit. Within two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels, drawing shouts and pointing from bystanders.
He breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, and vacant lots. By the thousands, they follow. Seeing the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and runs at full tilt. No matter his speed, the rats keep up, their hideous squealing growing as their numbers swell into the millions. A trail of rats twelve city blocks long streams behind him as he reaches the water's edge.
In a final, desperate move, he makes a mighty leap onto a light post. Clinging with one arm, he hurls the bronze rat as far as he can into San Francisco Bay. Pulling up his legs, he watches in amazement as the seething tide of rats surges over the breakwater and drowns in the sea.
Shaken and mumbling, he returns 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."