Saint in the City
St. Jimmy
My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out. Suicide commando that your momma talked about. King of the forty thieves and I'm here to represent, the needle in the vein of the establishment. I'm the patron saint of the denial with an angel face and a taste for suicidal.
-Green Day
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Jimmy. He had plagued New York's nights for over a year. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
He was the complete opposite of Nightmare in every possible way. Jimmy was Project Mayhem. He lived for chaos, and chaos was the closet word to describe him, but Jimmy couldn't be pegged as one thing, even a thing as broad as chaos. Jimmy was Jimmy, there was no other way to put it, Jimmy was simply Jimmy.
And everyone knew about him. Jimmy made sure of that. He wrote his name all over the city walls, he was not one to stay hidden in the shadows, he wanted the red hot spotlight, he wanted people to notice him, to know him.
Jimmy was New York's biggest criminal, the city's biggest problem, biggest fault.
He was unstoppable. Jimmy was smoke. You could see him, close enough to touch, but he would always slip through your fingers, escaping through the littlest crack, the smallest chink in your armor.
He had even managed to elude Nightmare.
Jimmy was the Joker to her Batman, the Green Goblin to her Spiderman, and whatever villain to whatever hero, Jimmy was it. He was the one itch Nightmare couldn't scratch, and that itch drove her insane.
She needed to catch Jimmy, but he always seemed just one step ahead of her, just out of her reach, always.
So the people of New York would lock their windows and close their doors, hoping, praying, that Jimmy wouldn't visit them in the night. But locks couldn't stop Jimmy, nothing could. He was the smoke hanging over the city, always there, always present, always uncatchable.
-Green Day
----------
Jimmy. He had plagued New York's nights for over a year. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
He was the complete opposite of Nightmare in every possible way. Jimmy was Project Mayhem. He lived for chaos, and chaos was the closet word to describe him, but Jimmy couldn't be pegged as one thing, even a thing as broad as chaos. Jimmy was Jimmy, there was no other way to put it, Jimmy was simply Jimmy.
And everyone knew about him. Jimmy made sure of that. He wrote his name all over the city walls, he was not one to stay hidden in the shadows, he wanted the red hot spotlight, he wanted people to notice him, to know him.
Jimmy was New York's biggest criminal, the city's biggest problem, biggest fault.
He was unstoppable. Jimmy was smoke. You could see him, close enough to touch, but he would always slip through your fingers, escaping through the littlest crack, the smallest chink in your armor.
He had even managed to elude Nightmare.
Jimmy was the Joker to her Batman, the Green Goblin to her Spiderman, and whatever villain to whatever hero, Jimmy was it. He was the one itch Nightmare couldn't scratch, and that itch drove her insane.
She needed to catch Jimmy, but he always seemed just one step ahead of her, just out of her reach, always.
So the people of New York would lock their windows and close their doors, hoping, praying, that Jimmy wouldn't visit them in the night. But locks couldn't stop Jimmy, nothing could. He was the smoke hanging over the city, always there, always present, always uncatchable.
♠ ♠ ♠
Jimmy