108. The Chase

Can you say Caption Contest anyone?

I am writing this in a dark alleyway hiding behind a dumpster. The light on the Blackberry may give away our hiding spot, but I thought that my fans deserved to know what became of me should I get found out. Let me back up.

Burbank and I had gone for a night stroll around Florence making rude poses in front of ancient statues for the camera. But then—I swear to God—this man comes around the corner, hair red as a baboon’s derrière, and goes “Hey you!” Now, this is Italy, so I figured if someone knows he should be speaking English at me, there’s a good chance he knows me, probably been looking for me, and judging by his hair colour wants to make a pie out of my face.

Burbank and I took off running, and of course the guy chased us. We ran all the way over the river and got into some little public square where tourists were enjoying a night out at a range of orangely lit Italian restaurants. We couldn’t stay here. We had to get somewhere dark, out of public eye. So we darted down a dark corridor between the ATMs and the chemist and dove behind a dumpster where we now sit listening for sounds of clomping feet, but all I can hear is Burbank’s confident and steady breathing.