Breaking Into Henry's Logbook

The porch is draped with fat spiders, but a broom disperses them. What right do I have to destroy a single strand of their art?

Ah, but the exquisite webs are traps, after all; so all is fair, or not fair.

Inside Henry’s Logbook there is a distinct smell of rodent droppings, and there is dust, and faded papers. I had left a light on, but it is burned out.

What am I doing here anyway, in this shipwreck?

I am looking for Amy Winehouse.

All Ronnie Spector, Shirley Bassey, and Dinah Washington in one, and young, with spittle and a jagged London edge.

Amy Winehouse—I came looking for you tonight, and I thought my best chance was to look here, in the dust and the droppings and the broken webs.