Being a web slinging super hero isn’t as easy you’d think. A ild case of the beer shits and alack for real human connection come standard with the job. It’s 11:30 and my phone won’t stop ringing. Kill Pretty wants an interview with the greatest protector this city has even known and I can’t find my fucking pants. Not feeling up to going under ground without being elevated, I down two tall cans and smoke a spidey joint before carring on with my endeavor.
I ride the train for free because this city owes me. There are countless citizens I’ve saved from the clutches of monotony while strolling down the boulevard with nothing to stare at but souvenir shops and hobos pissing in the corner. When I arrive at the Highland/Hollywood station there’s a crispness oin the air with a hint of desperation, and maybe rat poop. No sign of Megatron, Iron Man, or Silver Spray Paint All Over his Face And Suit Man. They must be upstairs saving society for dollar bills like modern day mercenaries who you hire for your shitty tourist pictures hen family comes to visit you and… oh shit I blacked out for a minute.
I might have drank too much… or maybe I’m still just drunk from the night before… or maybe this weed is laced with some other shit ‘cause mother fuckin’ kids are lookin’ at me like I’m some kind of drunk asshole instead of the hero they all worship. They’ve made movies about me god damnit! I’m givin’ out thumbs ups tellin’ kids not to do drugs knowing that’s their only escape from reality unless they get bit by a radioactive spider like me… Shit, I’m doing it again. Okay I just gotta find Nacho and that bearded bastard from last night that agreed to meet me here and get this over with so I can return to my web.I’m 45 minutes late ut I know they wouldn’t leave a spider hanging…