The remote is lying in the middle of the turned-down bed when I come in, pointed at the silent television. I pass on the way to the washroom and glance over as I do. On the other side of the black plastic wand there sits a good-sized brown spider. It has a slightly guilty air, I think, crouched there on the coverlet. It had probably been watching Law and Order when it heard me slide the cardkey in the door and, panicking, only just managed to bounce down on the power key with all its tiny weight before I was in the room.
I put my hand on the top of the television. It is warm, but then everything here is warm.
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