The Wabbit caught up with the Electric Shaman by going the other way round. He grinned. "What are you doing in the Colosseum?" He stuck out a paw. The Shaman met it with a spiky electric hand. The Wabbit's paw tingled. "I took your advice," said the Shaman. The Wabbit couldn't recall what his advice was. It was about eight years ago. Probably Wabsworth would know. "How's that working out for you?" The Shaman was overjoyed. "You said show business, but I did the next best thing." The Wabbit waggled an inquisitive ear. "I became a tour guide." said the Shaman. "I am currently light painting." He changed the ambient lighting to a nice sunset. "And sometimes I do tricks. Look! There I am over there." The Wabbit glanced over his shoulder and saw another shaman. "And the tourists?" The Shaman gave a belly laugh. "They're rather glazed. Some of them think they're on a film set for the Fast and the Furious." The Wabbit permitted himself a good guffaw. The Shaman was very enthusiastic. "You haven't seen my reenactment of the Gladiators?" He paused. "With electric prods?" The Wabbit chortled. But he thought about the outstanding issue - the smell of ozone. The Shaman growled. "I can't get rid of it. I think it comes from the cellars." "Let's go down there," smiled the Wabbit. Then he turned. "By the way, what about the illegal graffiti people?" The Shaman sniggered. "I prod them."
