This is Tinker; he bites.

He is one of my many smoking pals throughout my existence and when it comes down to going out at 2 a.m. for a final drag, he does not fail to show up. Hinged alongside the corners of the garage door, he waits for me with a fine ole Heineken awaiting nearby. 

Ghastly to think that I could make friends of poor ole Tinker, just because the thought reprecussions of having a friend that is outside the sect of not only our race, but outside the commonalities of the brand ‘household’.

It’s amazing how everyday we venture off into the same area to do our own businesses. For me, relaxing and puffing some toxic air into the shady barberry clouds that extend towards the horizon, as he is dreadfully working, trying to earn a meal.

He is a bit clumsy though, always frantically scuttling off to his newly acquired catch, to meet the widened eyes of his prey as he sloberly wets his forceps to cling on to the substance of the forbearing torment of suffocation. But, four times out of ten, he clumsily slips off the edges of his spindle, vibrantly shaking the exterior of his trap, as the leg of the now victimless prey shakes free and it flies away. Poor Tinker.

Nature is no weak-minded ordeal. No animal, no matter how brute or forceful it may appear, will fall into the same trap twice. Hinderance on the idea of Evolution. Sometimes, I think that the mold of evolution has disappeared from society is a fault, as there are some persons to which I would have no problem sticking them on Tinker’s spindle; and with much resistance, I do not.

I always think to whether there will be a day where I go out in the late night and frown upon the lack of brilliant complexities of his web. I will look and sink my head towards my stomach, wondering if my friend had met his existence in the web we call life.