Spiderman. Queens, New York's favorite human mutant hero.

He had saved countless lives, a hero at heart, he swings around doing good for others. He balances his hero life and his "normal" life so well, no one knows his identity, except for a few close people.

After a run in with a criminal one night, he finds himself battered and tired, but nonetheless, another day's work for Spiderman. He was starving as he trudged through the quiet streets of a neighborhood, with a few exceptions of some teenagers snapping some photos and getting sloppy autographs. They loved it nonetheless.

He was tired, one hand lazily gripping his side. As he walked past a parking lot, an illuminated sign that said 'Now Open' flashed rhythmically. A food truck. He licked his lips under his mask at the food he could already taste on his tongue. He walked up to the stand, and was greeted by a man who ran the food truck. You.

"Um...two hotdogs, please. No relish, extra cheese and ketchup." He said softly, pointing to the picture of the hotdogs.

He pulled out his wallet to pay.

Shit. He didn't have his wallet in his suit.