bam1020

I'm a million miles away from here, out past the sliding glass doors and away from the racks of 'low cost, high quality" merchandise. A lifetime away, running the street in a set of heels that defy all logic and good sense, I am the hero I was meant to be. Concealed behind a mask, my name badge is long forgotten. Fight for the faceless because a million miles away there is no you. I don't know why. There are bad puns, capes, and a little freezer crammed with as many dinners for one it can handle, but there is no you. And I realize that it's just as lonely as the world I try to imagine myself out of.

                Butch Ironweld sat in a brightly lit waiting room, just finishing his third magazine during his wait.  Sighing, he tossed the magazine onto the coffee table in front of him, and then adjusted himself in the uncomfortable metal chair.  Reaching into the breast pocket of his beat up green jacket, he pulled out a toothpick and slid it into the corner of his mouth.  He ran a hand through his short-cropped brown-but-graying beard while he chewed on the toothpick, and stared at the very large, well-muscled, well-dressed blonde man at the reception desk. "Hey Tiny, am I up yet?  Meeting should have started thirty-five minutes ago,"