Bitumen Market

I leaned forward, and made a web of my fingers.

No use.

The connection between the following events still eludes me:

The culprit had scampered off in an octagonal rage, leaving me in the meanwhile with a head swelled up to inconsiderate proportions. (The crime had been committed in the sub-cellar, in the frenzied digging earlier in the day.)

As I stretched my legs, I obstructed the traffic near the bin of mandarin oranges, and customers lumbered swervingly aside.

The first thing I had noticed?

I had been bitten by a spider.

.