The Wabbit wandered through Testaccio with nothing particular in mind. He was scouting out territory just to see what he could see, and he glanced over his shoulder at a mural he particularly liked. "Hello Wabbit!" called a voice. The Wabbit sometimes felt he could never be alone. But he didn't want to be rude to the wolf. "Oh hello," he replied. "See anything you liked at the market?" asked the wolf. The Wabbit shrugged. It was a nice market and he was fond of it, but it didn't have a suitable range of unobtainable items. "No old jazz records from 1951," he said. "It's not that kind of market," came the reply. The Wabbit shrugged again, "I did buy a bottle of olive oil with chillies and I have it here in my fur." The wolf seemed to turn. "That's the spirit," he said, "It refreshes the limbs. Just look what it did for my neck." The Wabbit laughed. The wolf looked down and smiled. "Did you meet these pesky garlic sellers?" The Wabbit nodded with vigour. "They're from the Garlic Tendency," said the wolf, "we can't get rid of them." The Wabbit was astonished. "Not even you! Are you stuck there?" "No," said the wolf, "I can get down. But I like it here and no-one bothers me much." The Wabbit thought for a bit. "Come down and show me round. You seem to have the inside line on things." The wolf thought for a while. Then he growled. "I will! You can introduce me to your friends." The Wabbit was super pleased. "What's your name?" "Call me Rommy," said the wolf - and he jumped down beside the Wabbit and stuck out a paw.