TWO

The cereal box as it morphs into… …A gravestone. Behind it, the New York skyline just visible trough a fierce storm Ron: dripping wet, fists aloft, raging at the heavensthrough the thunder and lighting. "I will avenge you, mother! …You're out of luck." The tombstone morphs back into… …A Count Chocula cereal. Just Ron and his dad at the breakfast table now. In fact in the eighteen months since my mother died, the only epiphany I had was realizing that, like it or not, life just goes on. Ron studies the

cereal box. "They never had so many mallows pieces when I was a kid." "Oh." Hey, I have something for you." He hands Ron three movie tickets." Ron lights up. "Spiderman 8! Thursday? The sneak preview? Dad, you officially rock! Don't you got a shift Thursday night?" "They're for you and the guys." A fun boy's dream. Two stories comic books, toys and collectibles, with a coffee shop concession. Ron is here with Felix and Larry, chatting and drinking frappucionos.

"How come nobody's ever tried to be a superhero?" "Gee, I dunno. Oh wait, yeah I do. Cos it's fuckin' impossible, dickwad." "What, putting on a mask and helping people? How is that impossible?" "That's not a superhero, though. How is that super? Super is like, being stronger than everybody and flying and shit. That's just hero." "It's not even hero it's fucking psycho." "Hello? What about Bruce Wayne? He didn't have any powers." "Yeah, but he had all expensive shit that doesn't exist. I thought you meant, like

how come no one does it in real life." "Yeah, I guess I did mean that." "C'mon. Anyone did it for real would just get their ass kicked. They'd be dead in like, a day." " I'm not saying they should do it. I just can't figure out why no one does. Seriously, out of all the millions of people who love superheros, you'd think at least one would give it a try. All those mid-life crisis guys in the guitar store, they're never gonna be rockstars, but it doesn't stop'em buying guitars." Shrugging. "Yeah, I guess. Meh." "Jesus, doesn't it

bug you? Why do thousands of people wanna be Pairs Hilton, and nobody wants to be Spiderman?" "Yeah, what's with that? She has like, no tits. None at all." "Maybe it's the porn tape. He doesn't have a porn tape." "You never saw One Night in Spiderman?" They all crack up. But suddenly, Felix is distracted. "Holy shit, check out the wheels." He nods over the storefront window. A huge black stretch S-class Mercedes has pulled up outside. "Looks like Mr. Mankey traded in the hummer." "Nah. He probably kept it.

And has, like both?" A teenage boy climbs out - Josh Mankey, 17 and self-conscious. He shuffles in followed by a body guard. Josh begins to browse a rack of comics, sneaking a look over at Ron and his friends before looking hurriedly away. "Is it just me, or do you feel kinda sorry for Josh Mankey?" "Yeah. Woah. Must suck to have a rich dad and everything you want. In fact, I wish you hadn't brought it up. I think I'm gonna cry." "Yeah, but he's always on his own." "We should like, talk to him. See if he

wants to hang with us." "I wasn't saying we should talk to him, just, like - " "It'd be awesome! Think about it: if he was our friend, no one would ever fuck with us again!" Ron and Larry consider this. Larry nods over towards Josh. "Go on then, Felix." "Nuh-uh. Ron should go." "Why? I just said I felt sorry - Aw shit, ok fine." Ron makes his way over the register, where Josh is now in line. Nearby, the body guard pretends to read a comic. Josh sees Ron approaching and smiles.

Ron smiles back with an award wave. The body guard glances from the comic. "Fuck off." This guy is massive. Ron does not need to be asked twice. Josh watches Ron return to his friends and reenact the encounter. All three burst into laughter. Ron and Felix walk home, carrying their bags of new comics. Then, from nowhere, two gang kids block their path. The bigger kid holds out his hand and matter-of-factly. "Phones. Money." "Aw man, not again." Ron hands over his phone and cash. Felix just gives cash.

"Phone." "I don't have one! Somebody else jacked it last week!" "Gimme the bag." "It's just comics." "You wanna get cut?" Felix reluctantly hands over the bag of comics, and the kids walk away casually. Shaken and angry, Felix and Ron walk on. Gil Moss, 30, unlikely to join his local neighborhood watch scheme anytime soon, is tired to a chair, his fingers in a pair of heavy-duty bolt-cutters held by a huge goon. Several other goons surround him - let's call them Ginger, Scary, Sporty, Baby and Posh.

And here's Jack Mankey, 50, and his right - hand man Motor Ed. You know by the cut of Jack's suit that he's in charge. "Jackie… Jack, I'm telling you, man. I swear I'm not making this up. This fucking guy… Comes outta nowhere -" "This would be the guy who looks like Batman." "I didn't say he looked like Batman." "You did, you said the guy looked like Batman." "He said, like, a black mast and stuff." "And a cape." "I didn't say 'Batman.'" "I never said 'Batman'." "So this guy, he comes in, outta nowhere."

"Right, outta nowhere. Fucks us up real good." "And this is who killed Jonnie…" "Right. And two of my guys." "...And jacked my coke." "He didn't exactly jack it." A hyper-stylized fantasy sequence. Gil lies on the floor with a gusher of a nosebleed, clutching a bag of coke. Two dead cronies lie nearby. The last man standing is Johnnie - clearly the muscle. Gil watches in dismay as the even – bigger superhero steps behind Jonnie and slices his throat with a hunting knife. The superhero turns on Gil, who throws the bag of cocaine into his face, bolts for the open window and jumps out. The masked man, his black costume now coved in coke, watches out the window as Gil limps away for his life.