Can You Tell a Story in 64?

The Spider caressed his moustache, spying the gilded mirror above the banquette. He enjoyed living up to his villainous name, tonight included. He held the poisoned tabasco sauce and poured an invisible bit onto the spiced meat dish he knew she loved. No doubt she would call for a nurse, but too late. He would pretend upset in the windmill of chaos that ensued.

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Can You Tell A Story In…