A man emerges from a shop on the passageway in front of where I’m sitting. The man is holding his hand in the air just above himself, looking a little downwards as at something hanging from a thread, invisible to me. I realise that it must be a spider. Very carefully the man carries the spider across to the other side of the passageway, to a dark opening into an anonymous building, and gently attaches it to a wall there. I smile and try to make that smile a gesture of solidarity. The man doesn’t notice. I don’t mind. I wonder if I wouldn’t want to sit here all day, waiting, watching, barely visible, if it were possible to remain in this state of suspension.
By Michael Reid.