I don’t care for spiders.

There is a spider intruding in my domicile, who, lacking the common decency to remain hidden from sight, is splayed out rather proudly on my dining room wall. On a white wall, in sort of overlapping spotlights provided by one of the floor lamps. Blocking my way past the table by not providing me a wide enough berth in which to maneuver.

I found it kind of irritating that it did not scurry away at my approach. It didn’t even pull all of its legs in and try to be small. It was offensively oblivious to my proximity. I thought it might be dead – like it might have just wanted a really dramatic place to die or something – so I leaned a little closer to look at it. It turned slightly in disdainful acknowledgement, but otherwise would not budge.

I’m not moving either.

Another slight turn. Challenging. Like, Hey, what’s up? You see something you like?

Eat a dick, spider. I don’t need anything on that side of the room tonight anyway. I’ll get it in the morning, when I have forgotten you are there.

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