Super heroes are finished. These days it's all pirates, like Ry was primed to hyroglyph the signs into your iris, or Blackest Night define the final Infinity Crisis. I'm resigned to watch the minutemen expire before their time is.
Easy. Vigilant vigilanties are on the prowl. Siezing imminant symnetry is what he loved about sneaking out of his day to snag a stack of the latest freakzines. Gotham's the city where the heart of his mind is.
Meanwhile, at any given moment, the dreams of his green ideas seemed to have all been stolen. While he was furiously asleep, they were being printed. But now that they they fit on his shelf he's trying to forgive them.
Flying nightly adventures keeing him up a guessing, like none of the stressing pressures were fit compared to blessing. The only thing keeping him out of tights and in the risers: a mortgage, a belly, his children, and a fear of spiders. Comics as a grown man. Preferred the weather in a cityscape, maybe one that had never existed. Lanterns and the supermans, seemingly offering him better benefits, with secrets identities not as dark as his.