ly, his stomach was burning and his shoulders were one big knot of tension. Spyders fight-or-flight instincts were locked on high alert for any funny look, wayward gesture or wandering beat cops. No one even acknowledged him except the cute blonde hippie chick at the register who smiled and asked, "Hows it hanging?" as Spyder paid for his orange juice. "Sucks about your shop," she said.
"Thanks. "
"You opening another one?"
"We havent decided yet. "
"Let me know if you do. I was thinking about getting a mudra tattooed on my shoulder," she said. "Tell Lulu Hi, and dont be a stranger. "
"You got it," said Spyder. He smiled awkwardly and fled the place. It was all too much. The city. Too many people. Too much noise. Copper jitters. The angels, demons and strange beasts whod wandered in from other Spheres were there, too, but their presence seemed kind of normal. It was the athletic shoe ads on the buses, the wandering tourists and ultra-hipsters, the panhandling poser kids that were making it hard for him to breathe. Spyder downed his OJ, gunned the bike into traffic and drove home. Hed been social enough for one day, no need to push our luck and find that one guy who still thinks Im Charlie Manson, he thought.
Back at the warehouse, Spyder sorted through a pile of mail on the floor by the front door. There was an official looking letter from an insurance company. Inside was a settlement check for the burned studio. The check displayed a prominent one followed by many more zeroes than Spyder had ever seen on a document relating to him.
Later that night, he met Lulu for a drink at the Bardo Lounge and showed her the check.
"Rubi, give my future ex
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