THE kettle let off a shrill whistle and Clark Kent blinked off his laser-eyes and put on his glasses. Pouring water over a tea-bag in one of his mother’s dainty bone-China cups, he began thinking of questions to ask his first interviewee: a lady named Jill Fennel who was announcing a grand-opening of a new store that specialized in all things Superman. He was flattered, of course, that people admired him so much but he couldn’t tell them that -at least, not as Clark Kent, the journalist from Daily Planet. He made a mental note to make a special appearance at the store after work.

“Fans submit their designs and I have them mass-produced and… and…”

Jill Fennel suddenly stopped mid-answer. She was staring at a bit of blue spandex peaking out from under his left sleeve. Kal-El gave an inward groan as her eyes slowly traveled up his arm to meet his. Thank goodness the combination of his good-looks and other-worldly origins were often overwhelming enough to distract people. Except Lois. It never worked on Lois.

“I biked here.” He smiled and winked at her.

Jill didn’t say much after that; just gazed distractedly at his face as if pondering whether or not people actually wore blue spandex outfits for biking.

After what felt like a century, the seemingly interminable interview was at last drawing to an end. Before things could be formally concluded, however, Clark caught sight of something out of the corner of his eagle-like vision. Several things in fact. The first of these things was that pedestrian he’d been watching for the past five minutes had finally grown tired of waiting for the red hand to change into a white figure. The second thing was that there was a semi approaching the intersection at a speed that could in no way be checked before it reached the red light. The third thing he noticed was that the semi was towing a trailer full of kittens (…for orphans  it said on the side) and a C-can containing explosive chemicals.

Superman was needed and needed fast, regardless of whether he would be exposing his Secret Identity. It was exactly for situations like this that Clark spent a third of his budget on rip-away clothing. As luck would have it, Jill happened to be looking over her notes. rrrip….In a flash, Clark Kent transformed from the charismatic journalist into Metropolis’ hero and launched himself into the air.

He assumed this renowned Statue-of-Liberty Pose and made a slow-motion dive towards the explosive, cat-carrying semi as the gap between it and its oblivious speed-bump closed rapidly.

Superman’s cape streaked behind him.

The pedestrian was nearly half-way.

The semi roared angrily.

Superman stood in the intersection, dug his heels into the asphalt and there was a sudden thunk  as the semi crashed into Superman and came to screeching halt within an inch of the pedestrian.

That night, as Clark Kent sat drinking tea from his mother’s favourite China set and watching the news (which mostly involved him as usual), a story came on about the grand-opening of Jill’s new store.

“And now, a moment with Jill Fennel, the creator of Be Super.”

“Thanks Bill. Today, I was able to witness the icon of the store, Superman himself, in action. I was in an interview when suddenly, he comes out of nowhere and stops this semi carrying explosives and kittens for orphans from colliding with a pedestrian. Stop by the grand opening and you can be super too by picking up the hottest Superman pajamas, semi brake-pads and the latest in rip-away clothing.”