The Wabbit was at Feltrinelli’s bookshop in the railway
station to research spam, when Skratch hove into sight. "Hello Spamch, you're just
the fellow I want to see," called the Wabbit. "Hello Spambit, I had some trouble getting here," said Skratch. "My tram was full of spam." "It’s everywhere. And it’s getting worse," said the Wabbit. "The Department wants us to investigate." "I’m hardly surprised," said Skratch. "Did you see these mothers pushing their spam?" The Wabbit looked
aghast. "It’s horrifying," he said. "When I catch the spam artist responsible for
this, I’ll make him eat all the spam in the city." "I'll hold him down," said Skratch. They both nodded in agreement. "So where do we start?" asked Skratch. "Where does spam come from?" "Somewhere obvious," said the Wabbit. "Somewhere
we wouldn’t think of," added Skratch. "Right under our noses," said the Wabbit and
his nose twitched several times. "I can smell it already," said Skratch. "Turbina the Jet Car has just been serviced. We
could cruise around," said the Wabbit. "We’ll look into every nook and cranny. "I’m with you," said Skratch. "But let’s sit down
and make a plan. May I offer you a spametivo?" "It’s all you can get," sighed the Wabbit.