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Spider in the room 2

‘Ah you’re back then.’ ‘Looks like it.’ ‘Had a nice day?’ ‘Yeah I guess…what the fuck? What’s this?’ ‘What?’ ‘The hell is that?’ ‘What?’ ‘Urgh that’s so gross.’ ‘What is?’ ‘This…did you do this?’ ‘Oh shit…It was Carl!’ ‘You’ve even googled naked spider ladies…oh that’s disgusting.’ ‘It was Carl.’ ‘It was Carl?’ ‘S’wot I said.’ ‘Where is he then?’ ‘Who?’ ‘Carl! Where is he?’ ‘Oh…he er…he popped out for a bit.’ ‘Where?’ ‘To er…to the…he went to the shops.’ ‘Carl went to the shops?’ ‘Yeah, he said something about needing some…what you doing?’ ‘Looking for Carl.’ ‘Oi…piss off…get back on your side of the desk.’ ‘It’s all my desk.’ ‘He ain’t here, I told you that.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘What, that?’ ‘Yes that…what is it?’ ‘Nuffin…’ ‘Is that a leg?’ ‘What? No! Is that a leg he asks…a leg? Oh my days is that a leg he asks…’ ‘That’s a bloody spider leg that is.’ ‘It so isn’t.’ ‘It so is. Is that one of Carl’s legs?’ ‘What? No course not…you think he went to the shops on seven legs?’ ‘Did you eat Carl?’ ‘Did I eat Carl? Did you really just ask me that?’ ‘Well he isn’t here…’ ‘I told you he went to the shops…after watching spider porn on your computer…he watched the spider porn then said fuck this I’m going to the shops and went out…’ ‘Yeah right…you ate him.’ ‘I did not eat Carl.’ ‘You ate him and left one of his little legs hanging there.’ ‘I told you, he went to the shops.’ ‘I mean really? You actually ate Carl? He came to you running away from the Big Bastard and you ate him? That’s low.’ ‘I didn’t bloody eat him, he’s at the shops.’ ‘Which ones?’ ‘Which ones what?’ ‘Which shops? Which ones did he go to?’ ‘How do I know? I’m not his keeper…anyway, where have you been all day?’ ‘At work.’ ‘Work?’ ‘Yes, work. I was at work.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Now I’m going to do some more work. On my book. Which means I need to be quiet.’ ‘Right you are.’ ‘Cheers.’

‘So it’s quiet here then.’ ‘It was.’ ‘In the day I mean. It’s quiet.’ ‘Yeah, I said I was at work.’ ‘Oh right.’ ‘Cheers.’ ‘No I just mean…you know…not many other people here moving about and things.’ ‘Pardon?’ ‘You know…you were out and it was quiet so…well I wasn’t sure if anyone else was living here.’ ‘No. Just me.’ ‘Ah got you. Yep. Understood.’ ‘What?’ ‘Sorry?’ ‘You understood what?’ ‘That you live on your own.’ ‘I do live on my own.’ ‘I know, you just said.’ ‘I know.’ ‘Yeah I know you did…you said it…’ ‘I’m working.’ ‘Sorry.’

‘So what did you mean?’ ‘About what?’ ‘When I said I live on my own? You replied like it was a bad thing…like all yeah I understand.’ ‘Bit sensitive aren’t you? I just said I understand that you live on your own.’ ‘I like living on my own.’ ‘Hey that’s great, no issues over here, mate.’ ‘Oh. Oh okay.’ ‘Yeah totally cool you live on your own. Plenty of people have to live on their own.’ ‘I don’t have to live on my own. I like living by myself.’ ‘Same thing.’ ‘No, you implied it like living on your own was a bad thing…like being all polite and stuff.’ ‘Whoa just simmer down over there! Don’t go putting words in my mouth now. I just said I understood when you said you live on your own.’ ‘I like living on my own.’ ‘Great, why are you telling me this?’ ‘Just…look never mind. I like living on my own.’ ‘Great but are you telling me this again?’ ‘Did you eat Carl?’ ‘No. Ha! Thought you’d catch me out then didn’t you?’ ‘Well…anyway, I’m working.’

‘So what did you do at work?’ ‘Can’t say.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Not allowed.’ ‘You’re not allowed to say what you did at work.’ ‘Yep.’ ‘Okay…what job do you do?’ ‘Can’t say.’ ‘Why can’t you say?’ ‘They told me I couldn’t say.’ ‘Who said you couldn’t say?’ ‘The bosses at work.’ ‘The bosses at work said you’re not allowed to say what you did at work or what you do for a job?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘What are you? A fucking spy or something?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Bit cryptic isn’t it?’ ‘Not really. They’re very strict about that sort of thing.’ ‘Who is?’ ‘The bosses at work.’ ‘They’re strict about you not saying what you do for a job?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘Oh my god! Who’s house am I living in? Are you some sort of hitman or something?’ ‘What? No!’ ‘Government agent?’ ‘No.’ ‘Politician?’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘What then?’ ‘I can’t say.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because the chief inspector said I couldn’t say.’ ‘The what said to what?’ ‘The chief inspector said I couldn’t tell anyone what I do for a living.’ ‘You’ve lost me…’ ‘When I started writing I had to tell them I was doing it…writing I mean… the chief inspector sent me a directive saying I’m not allowed to say what I do for a living, or who I work for or make any reference of anything to do with work…’ ‘Fuck me, you work for the nazi party then?’ ‘No…well…no…’ ‘That’s a bit strict isn’t it?’ ‘I thought so but then I didn’t really think much about it…now when anyone asks me I just say I’m not allowed to say.’ ‘Can they do that then? Your bosses I mean?’ ‘Er…well, they’ve done it so probably yeah.’ ‘Yeah I don’t think they can do that, mate. I mean what do I know? I’m just a spider…but…like…doesn’t seem quite right to me.’ ‘They’re very strict about that sort of thing.’ ‘Yeah totally I can see that. Are they ashamed about your work then?’ ‘Ashamed?’ ‘Yeah, just trying to figure out why they’d stop you saying anything about what you do for a job or anything to do with your job or even mentioning that have a job or even suggesting you once knew a bloke called Harry who once had a job…’ ‘No idea.’ ‘I mean…they can’t actually stop you from saying anything can they? What would happen if you did?’ ‘Dunno really…er…they’d probably do me for something.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘Dunno.’ ‘This chief inspector not like you or something then?’ ‘No we always got on alright.’ ‘So why did he say you couldn’t ever even mention the word job without getting put against a wall and shot?’ ‘Er, not really sure. I did challenge it at the time and had a meeting with our media chap and I said to him I don’t think they can really ban someone from saying what they do for a living.’ ‘Ah so they took it back did they?’ ‘Fuck no chance. They’re very strict about that sort of thing. I think he was worried cos people had affairs and maybe he thought I’d go blabbing about all that kind of stuff…I don’t know, he just said I couldn’t ever mention anything about work or write stories about work.’ ‘Ah I see, I thought you said you write zombie books.’ ‘I do.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Anyway, I need to get on.’ ‘Yup, you carry on, mate.’

‘Did you eat Carl?’ ‘No…’

‘I’m done. I’m going to bed.’ ‘Night then.’ ‘Did you eat Carl?’ ‘No. I told you he went down the shops.’ ‘He’s not back yet.’ ‘He probably got chatting, he knows everyone Carl does.’ ‘I hope you didn’t eat Carl.’ ‘I didn’t…’ ‘What about that Big Bastard? Did you see him last night?’ ‘No but there was a hell of a noise going on down there last night…I think he got raided or something was going on. I kept my head down and stayed out of it.’ ‘Eating Carl.’ ‘Exactl…no! I did not eat Carl.’ ‘I’m off. Night.’ ‘…leave the computer open if you want…’ ‘Dirty little shit.’ ‘Don’t judge me.’ ‘Clean the history off next time.’


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