you’re a photographer in new york. it’s not a real job, but you enjoy taking photos of the people in the city. the big apple is an admirable place, after all.

most times you go to the park. maybe on your balcony, sometimes the roof of a building after climbing up the fire escape.

the one thing about this city — about this universe — is the fact that there’s a superhero amongst the people. he’s masked, but somehow always jumps to the issue in no time, but you’ve noticed how late he’s been to problems lately.

the people named him ‘soul’. nobody questioned it since. guaranteed, your camera holds at least 5,000 images of soul, you never admitted to adoring him to your friends. you denied, saying he was overrated.

it was winter evening. cold. somewhat unbearable if you weren’t warm blooded, which of course you weren’t blessed with that factor, so you’re in a dark colored sweater, dark-blue-wash baggy jeans with black booties, a coat, and a thick scarf that wrapped around your neck and sat largely on your shoulders.

though cold, it was comfortable. and, soul was out tonight.

he wore the same suit he always did, but he had a jacket on this time, jeans, and boots on over it. perhaps he wasn’t immune to the cold, and you watched him intently from the park.

he was on a side-street by the bank, head-locking a robber.

you took out your camera, adjusting the sensitivity on it as you zoomed into the moment.