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June 12, 2007

Stacy: Aaaand Advocate Boy!

I am poetry in motion, a death machine on two legs, blue steel and sex appeal.

I plan my approach, moving soundlessly through the trash-strewn alley. There are three perps, crouched over a recently stolen woman’s handbag. I signal my partner on the other end of the alley, and as one, we strike.

He moves too fast, though, the glory hound. He takes out the first two with one blow, as I take aim at the third. I slip and land mask-down in a pool of something vile.

Captain Defender looks at me disgustedly, swishes his cape, and stalks away.

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