I am the night...

I watch over the city and cringe in disgust (either disgust or abdominal pain, you see, I'm lactose intolerant and I just had a Mochachino from that fancy coffee shop around the corner-- A crimefighter needs a good kick to start off his night of justice). So, where was I.... Oh yes, I watch over this city with an electric eye of vengeance, fueled by the boiling rage of memories from a life I once knew. Moments and flashes of a simpler time, burned into my skull. I remember the night. I can feel the thickness of it's visage choke me with every breath. There are nights where I can no longer take the filth that fills my lungs... the smell of crime... and Chinese food.
I watch, perched on high... waiting to strike. My eye catches the silhouette of a couple in a window. Their screams of pleasure are muffled by the high pitched screeching and rummaging of raccoons... but I make a note for later. I don't particularly like blondes but in this case, I'll make an exception. Taking notes of such things is what a good crime fighter does. Sometimes these notes need photos... and sometimes the photos pay the rent. Sometimes the photos get names, like "Kathy the Transvestite Prostitue Clown"... or names like "mayonnaise and shoe."
Sometimes just before dawn, I'll put boots on people's car tires. I think that it makes them look like futuristic rocket cars... but as the sun rises and burns away the dense droplets of fog, the illusion disappears... and it's just a stupid boot... but I still laugh for hours watching them steam and cry over their procrastination. "Pay YOUR TICKETS!!!," I scream into the night.
The streetlights look like UFO's coming in for a landing in the Castro... waiting to go into a club, get drunk, and probe the entire strips worth of cut off wrangler shorts and assless chaps and leave back to their home planet all coked up at 5 a.m. You can't trust those aliens as far as you can splatter their souls across a sidewalk.
I should have brought a jacket tonight. My spandex is getting cold... and I think that last attempt to pass gas actually left something solid in my boxer briefs. Such is the life of a superhero. I shall continue to watch over my city... maybe next time I'll skip the coffee and chili dog.