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Summary
Dennis Whitaker probably hadn’t slept in twenty-five hours. Well, maybe twenty-six, if you counted the fifteen minutes he spent staring blankly into the hospital’s coffee pot, debating whether pouring it over his own head would count as a power nap. Between patching up half the city’s bad ideas in the ER and swinging through the streets at night trying to stop the rest, he simply didn’t have time.
Oh, right. Dennis Whitaker was Spider-Man.