#35: Giving Nuke a Tumble

So, I have to tell you about the magenta-haired art student, Nancy—although that’s not her real name, turns out.
     My summer class hadn’t started yet, but I was settled into my garret apartment, such as it was; I just had my bed and a side table, and a few milk crates, as I mentioned. I had a big empty space in the corner of the small studio next to my bed, directly when you walked in the door. It was too small for a sofa, and I was going to need a desk or something to set my portable typewriter on and do homework—the fifties kitchen table wasn’t going to cut it. I’d left my desk in Ann Arbor—but there was time to find something else. First, I needed to find a job.

#34: You’re Not the Boss of Me

The apartment I found was affordable—that was perhaps its first and only attribute, aside from being next to the First Holistic-Humanist Congregation of Cass City, a free-thinking quasi-Christian sect housed in a rusticated Gothic church. Located on West Forest Avenue a couple blocks west of Woodward at Cass, my apartment was on the third floor of a once-modest townhouse turned into sawed-off rental units run by a white-trash couple from down south. You think I’m being mean, but if you saw them, you’d agree. The woman was a mean old bitty who dyed her hair red and the man wore a toupee that looked like a bird’s nest…but that’s neither here nor there.
     I had the picturesque garret apartment in what was once part of the attic, basically one room, a kitchen, and a bath, with all kinds of ceilings angling every which way, and windows pointing to the front and side of the building. There were other apartments on the top floor, and a long hallway that ran to the back of the house to the external back stairs—these egresses would come in useful if I needed to be Ms. Megaton Man in a pinch. At least it was a place to hold my stuff, although I’m not sure I’d call it secure. But at least it was within easy walking distance of the Arbor State extension, Warren Woodward, and the Union Stripe restaurant, where I landed a waitressing gig.

#33: Arbor State Extension

The spring before my senior year, I left the main campus of Arbor State University fully expecting to return to Ann Arbor in the fall to complete my double-major in Labor Studies and Urban Issues. I planned to take one class through the Arbor State extension in midtown Detroit over the summer. I could have taken it just as easily back in Ann Arbor in the coming fall, but getting it out of the way while I was back home would “even me up” in terms of credits and allow me to start my senior year as a full-fledged senior. This was important to me following the debacle of my repeated junior year—a series of regretful incidents I fondly referred to as my “delayed freshman crisis.” These involved sex, drugs, and Yarn Man, not necessarily in that order; an intervention by my parents; and an eventual return to the straight and narrow.

#32: Notes from Underground

Foreword to Volume II: North Cass Corridor

I want to thank John Bradford, former columnist of The Detroit Day and longtime adjunct writing instructor at Warren Woodward University—present whereabouts unknown—for the personal encouragement and guidance he provided, which enabled and empowered me to compose this and a previous volume of my reflections on being a megahero—namely, Ms. Megaton Man. Although never formally my editor, the feedback he provided on my first volume and his encouragement to undertake this second were invaluable to me. I will sorely miss him and his inspiration.

#31: Man, Woman

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#30: Miscegenation Man

The breeze coming off the East River over the old Navy Yards was crisp and cold as we packed up the Pacer on the rooftop of the Youthful Permutations headquarters. We were about to say our goodbyes to the Y+Thems when the Q-Mobile descended on the Navy Yard warehouse roof, and Yarn Man when Kozmik Kat hopped out. Koz announced he would be staying in Megatropolis.
     “My place is at his side,” said Koz. “Especially if he’s going to be tending bar at the Tudor City Club—someone’s got to keep an eye on him.”

#29: Megaton vs. Meltdown

As I caught up to the Q-Mobile, I could feel the heat rising from the open top; even though the winter air was frigid, the Human Meltdown was giving off considerable body heat. Chuck was on top of my sister in the back seat, her body underneath his. She was screaming and pounding him with her fists.
     “Get off me!” she shouted, her arms flailing. “I don’t want this!”
     “Just relax, honey,” he replied. “Enjoy the ride. You wouldn’t want to hop out now—it’s quite a drop into the drink.”
     I had no real fear that he would drop my sister from the Q-Mobile, but it was also clear he was overpowering her; her jacket and shirt were ripped open, and her pants were pulled down. Chuck had the lower half of his red and yellow costume also pulled down; he was obviously readying himself to penetrate her.
     That’s when I grabbed his hair.