Dear Wigleaf,

I'm writing to tell you that I finally unmasked the superhero. I was disappointed by his face underneath. I thought I'd know him, was sure I'd know him, but didn't. With the superhero's body in spandex, his uncovered cheeks and forehead ballooned. He had clearly shaved that morning. He had probably eaten breakfast, brushed his teeth. And I had pummeled him; he was very close to death. The superhero's nose bloody, the skin around his eyes turning black, he seemed an infant. Without the mask his face meant nothing. Without the mask, I meant nothing. I looked out over this city of millions. I have ruined it for everybody.






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Read LS's "The First Sign of Holes."

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