It is fast as a bark. I don't know how to describe it in a word. The hourglass on its belly is red as rapture, or the Rapture. I feel under appreciated. Quick as night the fat spider skitters down a runway in spiked heels.
Tight wires are everywhere.
An audience is clapping. But a deep in my starched pajamas until I almost forget, but the spider is a trusting heart beating its eight count on gauze and darkness until I confess my fear with a screwdriver blade and pin her abdomen to the concrete and spread it like butter. Roll it around on your tongue. Yesterday, before the world ignited, at the car wash, the driver in the car in front of me used a bath towel to try to keep water out of his car. He had already driven into a car wash in a car without a window.