Wherever I go, the wind follows, and the wind– smells like rain. My name is (also) Peter Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. In my universe, it's 1933 and I’m a private eye. I like to drink egg creams and I like to fight Nazis. A lot. Sometimes, I let matches burn down to my fingertips just to feel something, anything. Can you close off your feelings so you don't get crippled by the moral ambiguity of your violent actions?