the strands moving at top speed. He wondered what those saw-tooth blades would do to flesh.
"Okay, I have a story," Spyder said. "This was on, probably, my second trip to Paris. You been to Paris?"
"I passed through. "
"I went there with this girl, Trina, one Christmas. She came from money and knew a lot more about the high end of the world than me. I was used to staying in squats and youth hostels. When I was with her, we stayed in an actual French hotel. The Hotel Esmerelda, across from Notre Dame. It was cold and wet that time of year. We were under-dressed and freezing, but we did all the usual tourist stuff. The Louvre. The Eiffel Tower. Caf Deux Magots.
"There was this older Spanish guy, worked the front desk at night. Really nice. Later, he told us he was Peruvian. We asked him what bar we should go to and he offered to drive us around, give us an insiders tour of the city.
"Its a little after midnight when the guy, Pablo, gets off. He pulls around the front of the hotel in the smallest car Ive ever seen. This card give a foetus claustrophobia. Im polite, so I squeeze into the back. Pablo and Trina are up front.
"He starts driving and we dont know where the hell hes taking us. Im suspicious, because thats my nature. But Pablo is cool. He takes us by some old buildings where Jean-Paul Marat and other French Revolution psychos used to live. He takes us into a dark, wet park where its just starting to snow. This is the park where the best hookers hang out. Sure enough, theres a woman in a fur coat standing at an intersection, looking like shes waiting to cross. As we pull near her, she opens the fur coat. Shes naked underneath, a Victorias Secret wet dream. Pablo asks if weve ever s
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