..but it is my job...and generally, I do it well. Somehow, sometimes, things goes...well...wrong for me. Samson Project Public Relations and authoriti...s had been able to cover up some...unhappy, unfortunate adventures of me. Though, fortunately, nobody were hurt but me and my ego.Somehow, I continue to patrol the city day after day, night after night....A night like that...Though I am not like a Superman, I could hear a feminine screech of anguish from the dark alley. That scream was scary for. . Still cautious, “For what?” And then before I could shut myself up— “Cuz I’m not Mom. I know it was wrong. I realize that, I do, but I thought that was great, amazing. I thought that you...”I was ready to go on and on. I had adjectives lined up like paratroopers ready to leave the plain, but Mom raised her hand and cut me off.“I’m sorry I’m always a bitch.” She tells me.The silence grew long and awkward. I was hoping she would follow-up because I was empty, speechless. I found myself looking. More

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