How had it gotten so filthy outside his window?  He thought this, till he wondered if the filth were not the Y-shaped netting a spider lays out on which to suspend its web.  He had stepped into a work-in-progress.  He didn’t open the window.  Damn the heat.  He’d photograph the craft of web-making instead.  He felt it his duty to then watch over the netting on which the webbing would hang.  He ate and worked by the window.  He woke up at intervals to sit in vigil.  No spider showed.  A couple of flies escaped a web not yet formed.  He waited for the artist a long time, till he simply knew that he had been summarily dismissed.  The spider had abandoned the site outside his window.  It truly was filth clinging to it.  And he was oh-so tired and bored that it had taken all this behavior for him to finally open the window.