I know the bastards are on to me. I walk down the street with the book under my arm. I hide in a park and caress my copy of this rare treasure.
People start to point.
Hours of running and hiding behind dumpsters and crouching behind bushes. I look to the west and the sun is setting. I spot a house with an open window. I crawl through the window and take a look around. I know the bastards are on to me.