“Oh, well, you are going to be in for a treat then.” The reply could not be more genuine. While many New Yorker’s claimed that Gray’s Papaya was the finest of the city’s hot dogs. Peter new, first hand mind you, that Coney Island had all other foods beat. At least of the bun covered variety. He offered her a hanky that her removed from somewhere in his onesie.
“So no tears are needed.” He offered as fake consolation to her fake tears.
“If I don’t call you kid, then what am I going to call you?” He asked as he strode down the stairs of the Rockaway Ave. subway station, patting his suit to find some subway tokens.
He glanced at her as he continued to, somehow, leave a trail of confetti behind him, “I dunno, you don’t seem *that* nutty to me. I mean, last week I fought a super criminal with a YouTube channel.”
He stopped to catch her when he heard her squeak and then she stumbled. “Oh, it’s more for others.” He answered, then added, “Plus quite comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.”
He wasn’t sure if she’d get the movie reference, but it was fine.
“Besides… if I took it off, then everyone would know my…” Peter leaned in a bit and whispered behind a hand in her ear, “Secret identity.”