Rises

I passed a couple bar-hopping, unintentionally making them hop to one side. The Under Armor fit better now, having lost so much weight for my film. I ran the usual route: passed Clinton Square where I had saved that woman being attacked by a gang; up Adams Street, where I had rescued that family stalled in the middle of the intersection. I ran by Golisano and pointed to the children’s windows as I always had, in case one of those poor kids couldn’t sleep from the chemo and happened to glance outside to see me. A couple leaving Crouse let me pass first. I didn’t argue with them, seeing that that would scare them further. I was wearing the mask I wear in winter, because in many ways in Syracuse it still was; although the emblem on my chest was something that should only scare bad people. Maybe they just had guilty consciences. It seemed that they had forgotten me: a symbol of hope. A college student held out a twenty dollar bill to me as I ran by. “Did you drop this?” he asked, frantically. I motioned to him- “no.” The road sweeper stopped to watch me sprint the “Rocky stairs” behind Newhouse that led to the Dome; he circled back to see me looking out over the city. I had missed this. All those nights driving through the outskirts had kept me away - until now - I was back in Gotham.