But where's Clark?

I asked the Newsagent, but she said that Clark had not been in for ages and could I pay his overdue Daily Planet paper-bill? This was most bewildering as Clark was that paper's star crime reporter and must be earning a mint, enough even to have a regular change of clothes.

Then I poked my head into the Bakery - the staff reckoned he had been there recently but did his dough. "Don't ya' get it?" they guffawed in earnest, interrupting their game of Coits they were playing with some doughnuts. At least the kindly girl behind the counter explained what they meant and why Coits can only be played with doughnuts with holes in the centre. Clark was apparently 'terrible' at Coits and lost a lot of money to the Bakers' dozen.

The Bookshop owner thought Clark had purchased a tome, but wasn't completely sure. It might have been a 'Lonely Planet travel guide to Krypton - things to look out for'. Had I heard of the place as it is not on the Map? Perhaps Krypton is in Luxembourg or Tasmania and he was planning to take off and go there?

Next I was at the Post Office - but I could not ask there as being a Sunday it was closed. I left a note under the door, 'Where is Clark? Post me a return letter with more than half a dozen syllables in the reply just for fun. Thanks, Plod'.

Poking my head into the Grocery Store, I asked the gangly lad at the check-out, "Had Clark done his weekly shopping?" He stated that Clark the other day purchased a lot of spinach. I could only surmise Clark liked food with a lot of iron or was intent of torture by those wicked emerald leaves?

Next stop was the Gymnasium. Yes, he'd been there recently, they indicated. In fact he was seen pumping iron with great vigour and eating lots of spinach but he still would not remove his tie despite being soaked in perspiration. Though, he did take off his gabardine coat jacket.

I bumped into the Optometrist whom I knew made Clark's coke bottle sized glasses. "Seen him lately?", I asked. "Are you trying to be funny?", he replied and then promptly walked into a No-Standing Sign.

Even the Barber Shop cutter and shicker could not recall Clark coming in to get his daily shave and smear of brylcreem hair lotion on his G-Man styled black hair. Mused the Barber, "Clark was a bit of a show off, saying he knew some superheroes like Batman and Wonder-woman. I thought, how could this suburban guy know these silly-named dullards? I mean, does he think he's some kind of superhero himself or what?"

Poking my head into fortress Constabulary, I filled in a Missing-Persons report. But Clark's description was so average that Lex Luthor, the Senior Sergeant on duty, probed further and asked, "Any distinguishing features?" To which I could only reply, "He smiles a lot, has nerves of steel and neatly polished shoes. Occasionally, he wears a designer red cloak with a rather odd emblem inscribed." The Senior Sergeant nodded, "Sure we'll look out for him though I reckon you people must think I am a man of steel when it comes to finding Clark, again." For some reason the Senior Sergeant was laughing, a lot.

"Nope, have not seen him in ages", muttered the Butcher with the vegan good looks, as with dexterity he carved up a tender-loin steak he was preparing for a Mrs. Kent to collect later that day.

I even tried to locate red telephone booths in order to ring Clark at his home or maybe find him in one looking for some change (as he tends to do). However, these are so few in the metropolis following cutbacks I couldn't find one and I know Clark does not have a mobile telephone. It seems the microwaves give him headaches.

Maybe, the guys at the local Plumbing supplies might have seen him, I thought? It seems he was there and placed an order for a riband of lead. They thought this had something to do with him trying to build a suit of armour 'for protective purposes'. I wondered what that meant as I read his neatly written 'order' in exquisite copperplate?

By chance, as I forlornly wandered down the street, I came across Clark's former school teacher, now in doddering old age. He fondly remembered Clark and claimed that he was a super boy. But could not help me further.

Next on the list was to try his GP (Doctor). She cited patient/doctor confidentiality, though did let slip she had treated Clark for some radiation related sickness but it seemed to come and go. The Doc' did mention that his eyes always seemed to look right through her but it was just a suspicion on her part.

At the railway station, I looked for Clark and asked some of the local punks shuffling spray cans behind their backs, "Had they seen this man in the photograph?" "Nah!", they replied in mono-syllable. All they wanted to do was 'borrow' the comic I had under my arm. Warily, I shuffled away, comic less, though not before leaving scribbled a note on the graffiti splurged waiting-room wall, 'Clark - call home Lois is worried'.

As I walked away from the railway station a diesel locomotive sped past as fast as a bullet and for a reason, though I'm not sure why, I thought of Clark.

And with that, the Pub looked a final prospect. I was sure he would be there wearing his fedora hat and drinking his comical sapphire coloured fizzy drinks. But, once inside I ordered a Bourbon and then another and another and I couldn't have cared less what happened to Clark.


Lois Lane is located off Anderson Street, Yarraville Village (Victoria) Australia.