He said he was walking down the street and some guys came up behind him – and it goes from there. Frankly, he could do a much better job of telling the story. His humility in the matter does his superhero crime-fighting skills and the story itself a disservice. So I will tell it how it should be told. This story is about my friend C., who should own, and frequently wear, a cape.

He was walking alone in a neighborhood in Brooklyn that was formerly “unlivable” but has been recently re-gentrified to “rough” status. “Rough” is still not “safe”. This simply means that the “rent” is “cheap”.

The two soon-to-be evil-doers behind him were young, with coats too impractically large to hold any warmth. They had been a distance behind him, and only the sound of a few last steps warned our fearless superhero that the attackers were suddenly right behind him.

Evil-Doer #1 grabbed C. by his shoulders to hold him, yelling, “get his wallet!” to his accomplice. C., with split-second, bat-like reflexes, spun around like the blade of a Samurai, grabbing Evil-Doer #1′s collar and throwing him to the ground while simultaneously clocking Evil-Doer #2 with a direct hit to the jaw with his free hand. Evil-Doer #2′s teeth cracked together and he fell to the ground, out cold! C. turned his attention to the now terrified Evil-Doer #1, on his knees but with still his collar clutched by our fearless hero. In an act of mercy, C. let go the collar of the struggling Doer #1 and he ran off, his massive coat billowing in the wind.

Triumph!

By C.’s own account, this would-be mugging “went very poorly” for the would-be muggers. #1 ran away like a cockroach with the light turned on, and #2 lay in a heap on the sidewalk.

Although I myself may not be, C. says he was very surprised in the end. In his version of the story, he turned around in a panic, intending to swing wildly and indiscriminately at Doer #1, and just happened to directly connect his first fist pump with the business part of #2′s face.

See what I mean? He doesn’t tell it very well. If it were my story, I’d be, like, a robot or something, and it would have ended with me hanging #2 on a flag pole by his underwear.

Instead, C. checked for a pulse on #2. Again, even he himself had been surprised at how hard the guy went down. Finding a pulse, C. gently laid the Doer’s head on some of the extra material his coat offered, told someone nearby to call the police and walked off into the night.

Wow! How about that!

cameron mizell