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42 Like Superman From slick covered stacks of capes and masks a boy begins the walk to school with ganglions blitzing comic book kinetics. One step bat, next step spider, fists popping claws, carrying shields and totem boomerangs, he walks the rooftop ledge of sidewalks swinging across greenlight crosswalks on webs, on hooks, on wings, on fire, and hunts the menaces of world and city to save the girl in second period math who sits next to him and smells like berries. Then somewhere the pulp yellows into grey. Those bright colors of his bad guys dull to everyday. And he figures out evil is historical, subtle, and not to be found in the hysterical smile of clowns drawn in gloss brigades of paint and ink. No monsters. No madmen on the fringe. No easy enemy to swoop down upon. Just debt, taxes, and acid reflux while charcoal men wage cartoon wars. Still, he thinks it would be nice if he could feel his thumbs press into the throat of a purple villain to win a kiss from that girl in math who smells like berries. ...

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