And thanks for trying to help me out. " He turned and walked away.
Twenty
Badlands
Spyder grabbed a cab at Fishermans Wharf and took it back to his warehouse.
When the driver tried to engage him in tourist chit-chat, Spyder ignored him and stared out the window. It was dusk. The sky was midnight blue and shot through with glowing stripes of salmon. Lights were coming on as they drove through North Beach. Strip clubs, punk clubs, sports bars and Italian restaurants hissed by. On the corners were groups of tourists shivering as fog came down them in their Alcatraz Swim Team T-shirts. Fidgety clusters of students, street kids and sailors in dress whites ran through the traffic, eager to get on to the next good time.
And there were the mutilated, sipping cappuccinos at sidewalk cafes. The beautiful Volt Eater from the night market was being ferried down Broadway on a glittering sedan chair. Outside a sex shop at Broadway and Columbus, a blue-robed angel sat atop a sacrifice pole holding a dead kitten in its arms and weeping.
Spyder dug the crumpled pack of American Spirits from his pocket and lit one. He thought of something Lulu had said when he first discovered her awful secret, "If you wait long enough, everything becomes normal. " Theres a lot of truth in that, he thought, watching the animal-shaped airships drift through the evening sky. Nothing was bothering him at that moment. With a little practice, he was certain that nothing would ever bother him again.
At the warehouse, Spyder handed the driver a wad of bills and got out of the cab without waiting for change. Inside, the warehouse was cold and not all that comforting. As much as Spyder loved to travel, he was always
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