12:30, library again. I skitter around, retrieving two books. Ai Weiwei's Blog, and something by Bukowski. I peer downwards. Page 52; imperfect architecture.
There's a brown spider walking on the table, back and forth. Tracing a path, leaving an imperceptible trail behind her. I watch. Not random—purposeless. I'm mesmerized.
Everything has a story.
She keeps peering off the edge of the table, front legs extended—as if aghast—before happily finding a new route. For her sake, I just watch. The world is not flat. She found her way without my help.
I learned a lot from that spider.