Chasing a suspect through a market. Let a whole flock of the bastards go just to slow him down. Course, the first thing the guy did was throw a cup of coffee in my face, then he went through and threw everything else they had. So I got to deal with the aftermath and shove past all the fish and feathers and the Portuguese guy yelling "Who pay for this?"

[Blake runs his hoof over his mane.]

[He knows he's seen the greaser before somewhere. There's something familiar about the idea of him leaning against a wall in a parking lot and blowing cigarette smoke in his face.]

Gotten in some brawls with the Sharks and Jets, huh.

These lil' guys aren't scary. [He tapped the crab's shell fondly.] Except maybe the balloon ones that look in your brain. And rhyme about rain.