Bob arrives back at his apartment, the humble abode of the city’s protector. The apartment consists of a single room and a bathroom. Bob stumbles to his bed, and falls into a deep and restful sleep.
Robert’s apartment would have been described by almost anyone as squalid. As a part time roof cleaner, and a crappy one at that, he barely made enough to support his dreadful existence. The single yellow light illuminated three quarters of the room, although you’d wish it showed nothing.
Trash and unused junk littered the room on either side of the bed, which is actually just a pull out couch. A borderline relic of a TV sat across from the bed, connected to a cable box that Robert had long since forgotten to pay the bills for.
In addition, a bulletin board hung on the wall at the edge of the room. It looked like it should have held christmas cards, or important notices, or perhaps anything of use at all, but sadly, Robert had no friends for christmas cards, and was involved with nothing important enough to warrant a notice. Besides his feeble connection to his roof cleaning company, at which everybody viewed him as a weirdo who stuck his toes into a barbeque, Robert had connections to absolutely nothing.
Bob opens his eyes at the crack of noon, and shoots out of bed like a bolt of electricity had been shot through him, Traeger chimney still in hand. Rushing to the window, he flings it open, filling his room with the warm daylight of a new day, a new opportunity. Another day, and another chance to start spreading his code of justice.
Turning in circles, Bob analyzes his room meticulously before coming to the conclusion that it can, and must, serve as his new base of operations. Gathering anything he did not view as absolutely essential, Bob opens the window and flings his former belongings out, “Here you go citizens, a free gift from your savior!” He yells magnanimously. No response. No matter, these things take time, they take patience.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Looking at the bulletin board, Bob saw his new leads board, allowing him to track his soon to be found crimes. Turning to the television, another idea crashed into Bob’s head, here is where I will hear of my achievements.
Looking over his new headquarters, Bob knew he was ready, the only problem was time: There were 24 hours in a day, twelve of which Bob spent sleeping, and six of which he toiled at the roof cleaning company. That left only six hours in which he could fight for his city, which was simply not enough time.
Pondering this conundrum, Bob paces his lair, perhaps I could fake my death, no that would be too difficult, maybe I could sleep less? No. Impossible. Maybe I cou– Bob’s phone call jerks him from his thoughts. His boss is on the line. Bob is confused, his boss had never even talked to him, much less known his phone number. .
“Hello?” Bob says
“Is this Bobby-Burnt-toes?” His boss asks.
“I would prefer not to be referred to in that way,” Bob fires back wittingly.
“Well Bobby-Burnt-toes, we caught you destroying the Treager on the security cameras last night.”
Bob is shocked; he had been so sure of his secrecy.
“Anyways, you’re fired, and we’re going to take the cost of a new Treager out of your last paycheck, please never return to our office.”
The boss ends the phone call, leaving Bob alone with his thoughts, and the now unaccounted for 6 hours of time. Problem solved, Bob thinks, walking out the door.
“My city is dirty,” Bob declares, “and I’m going to clean it up.” He joins the throng of people walking down his street. A silent guardian. Nobody, but a hero nonetheless.
That was the biggest problem with Robert. He was a nobody. No connections, no relations. It’s what made it so hard to catch him. But I did, I always do. Too bad this time it was too late.