This is written for slodwick's "A picture is worth a thousand words"-challenge. A huge thank you to cosmic for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Feedback is adored. The picture in question can be found here: http://img17.photobucket.com/albums/v50/missu/54.jpg

As he steps on the escalator in the subway station, he hunches down and stares at his feet. His shoes are dusty. It must be a result from the trip to the city dump, where Lois took them to investigate illegal waste handling earlier that day. All they found was a flock of seagulls. And trash. He doesn't want to know what else is stuck on the soles of his shoes. There's absolutely no joy in having X-ray vision, if you have no desire to see something.

Theoretically, he could use his superspeed on these daily trips between his apartment and the Daily Planet but this makes his days feel more normal. Seem more normal. And he likes the bustle of people around him going on about their lives. He likes people. Although, coming from a small town, the press of humanity in such vast numbers sometimes feels overpowering.

The escalator takes him lower and lower to the hum of the subway ramp. The lighting gives a slight greenish glow to the whole place. It's probably supposed to give the subway station a sophisticated and urban air but he doesn't like it. Green makes him feel ill.

The heavy commuter traffic has passed already; he doesn't get to leave from work very early nowadays. Lois likes to keep her rookie reporter in the Daily Planet office with the sheer tenaciousness of a dog with a bone working on their stories. Not that he would call Lois a dog.

At least to her face.

He contemplates sliding down along the escalator's handrail, like he's seen the skater kids often do - cool and with a hint of rebellion. He almost goes for it, but then remembers that Superman doesn't really need cheap thrills. His thrills are far more serious. Have been for a long time.

Besides, his suit is already creased enough. Well, "suit" might be a little optimistic word for his ensemble. The gray pants have seen better days and are a bit too short and baggy. The less said of his brown jacket, the better. But this is his disguise, his armor of anonymity. The woman in a crisp business suit and a 100$ haircut coming up from the adjacent escalator gives him barely of flicker of appraisal. Nothing to see here, I'm not the guy you're looking for, move along, move along.

He doesn't like to think of himself as a total geek but sometimes the evidence to the contrary is a bit overwhelming.

Before he reaches the bottom of the ramp, he has time to adjust the frames of his glasses. The second pair near annihilation this month alone. He just can't seem to remember to put them away safely when he has to rush off to rescue something. Now the crooked frames mock him with - unsurprisingly - Lois's voice. Being a bit of a klutz was supposed to be a clever ruse to complement his outer appearances, but sometimes what you see is what you get.

In the subway, there is the usual, babbling, crazy person sitting across of him. From time to time, the man reaches out a shaking hand for something invisible, while keeping up with his lonely dialog. He doesn't think that it's kryptonite induced insanity. After all, this isn't Smallville. Maybe it's just an ordinary man broken by the big city. Sometimes he feels broken in Metropolis. By Metropolis. The other passengers pointedly ignore the spectacle.

When the subway arrives at his stop, he gives the still mumbling man the change from his pocket. It feels a lot like cheating. Shouldn't the supposed hero of the city be able to do more? The man looks at the money but probably can't really see it.

The neighborhood where he lives isn't exactly upscale. The buildings are old, but not in an "old and expensive" way but rather "old and in serious need of repair" way. But the community is surprisingly nice and friendly. The occasionally cracked walls and crumbling plaster surround a warm heart. His mother wouldn't let her only son live in a bad part of town, superpowers or not. And the crime rate is at an all time low right now. The city's police chief says that the statistics show it's a result from the new patrolling routes. Well, statistics are a lot like lamp posts - easy to lean on but illuminating fairly little. This time, the analysis isn't so far off from the truth. His patrols always end here, after all.

The pavement is clean for once, after a rain shower in the afternoon. He searches for Kryptonian symbols from the cracks on the pavement. He finds one for "death". It isn't a fun game anymore.

When he gets home, the pile of dirty dishes is still waiting for him in the sink and the furniture hasn't miraculously turned into a more stylish set. There's a hole in the wall from where he accidentally bumped his elbow this morning hurrying to work and trying to get his socks on his feet while eating a piece of toast. The landlord isn't going to like that at all. One would think that one wouldn't be so uncomfortable with confrontation after having faced a supervillain or hundred.

But then he sees a handwritten note on the kitchen table.

It tells him that "The meeting wrapped early. Take off that god-awful suit (both of them) and join me in the shower. CEOs need help washing their back. And front."

He can hear the faint noise of someone humming the tune to Warrior Angel - The Animated Series under the sound of the running water. He opens the bathroom door and his glasses fog up immediately...from the steam.

Clark's life is often a dusty mess with holes in the wall. But that is just surface, things other people might see. What really matters is the inside, the reality. And that has a bald, naked billionaire waiting for him in the shower.

It's not a bad life.