We Don’t Need Another Hero

hong kong superhero

Let me tell you what’s what. None of this is easy; it just looks that way. It’s all about maintaining perfect duality. One persona must be saintly, and the other, demonic with hard limits. No killing, duh. No waterboarding. No wedgies. It’s what separates the true vigilante from the psychopath. Don’t become the psychopath; I will take you down swiftly and efficiently. It is difficult distinguishing the difference between one gray area placed on top of another gray area, but you have to. Bottom line: zero casualties equals winning. If you step back and look at it, how much different is it than being a responsible and reliable accountant?


If you’re into adrenaline rushes, and who isn’t, you need to get your face behind a mask. If you’ve got an identifiable facial feature like a Minnesota-shaped mole, cover that shit up. Use a hood. And for the sake of God, make the eyeholes big enough to see through. Too many amateurs have lost their lives groping blindly for an armed criminal. Don’t end up a statistic. Be ready to sweat your face off too, and you’ll end up with some old-school acne. Better yet, get that mole removed with laser surgery. Maintaining a secret identity is what separates the part-time to full-time hero from the all-time hero. Believe me, you will lose your mind if you can’t turn the hero side off.

Hopping from rooftop to rooftop, backlit by the moon and light pollution of a dying breathing city is exhilarating. Beware rain! Slickness and gravity become your unbiased enemies. One night, I landed on a puddle, slipped and flew into the air, as if levitated, completely parallel to the flat roof, and WHOOMP, there it was, I was laid out flat on my back. I assessed the damage. I.H.M. Inner: potential cracked rib, heart racing. Head: minor concussion and dry mouth. Mobility: back may be broken, can’t move. I.H.M. It may save your life, young superhero. Invulnerability is greatly underrated.

Tom Petty always says it best, “The waiting is the hardest part.” I was fortunate, in that the view was stunning and unfamiliar. Sometimes it takes a huge boneheaded error to find unseen before beauty. A quarter moon and the most stars I’d ever seen, ever. It was absolutely gorgeous, but, my God, the excruciating pain, every breath poking and scraping bone against organ accompanied by the persistent agonizing acid rain was more than aggravating, it was crying and bargaining and groveling. I did the natural thing, and passed out. Not sure if I squealed before groaning, probably did.

Funny story, true, I woke up with a black Sharpie®-drawn mustache, with a post-it note® attached to my forehead. It read: Sleeping on the job… again. Ha. Your pal, The Office Manager.

Saintly

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