It was located in an old, narrow, multi-floored brownstone, with each of its many rooms dedicated to a different variety of reptile. In perfect New York style, Steve’s Serpent Storehouse wasn’t just a small curbside shop he could scan with a single glance. Maybe that when life gave you options, it was best to choose more carefully. There was a lesson in there somewhere, he thought. He’d chosen snakes, and he’d gotten snakes. It was Saturday night, and his girlfriend Mary Jane was off doing something she didn’t want to tell him about, and he’d wanted to be diverted… so snakes. He’d also played with the coding to catch anything that might be, well… amusing. He’d set up his computer to monitor emergency channels, and then alert him when they picked up anything where he might make a difference-fires, robberies, and the all-too-frequent appearances of villains doing super-bad things. So at the last moment he performed an in-air flip and clung to the ceiling, staring down at the dozens of hissing, slithering creatures. He’d planned to land on the floor, but it was already occupied. Or was it still a plus? Maybe the weird, gross, and possibly dangerous implications of a shop dedicated to limbless reptiles embodied everything he loved about this city, Spider-Man mused as he swung through an open second-story window. NEW York City had everything, and that was usually a plus, but not so much when that something was a snake store.
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