A mysterious naked man has been reported on Cranston Avenue. The police are performing the usual ceremonies with coloured lights and sirens. Almost everyone is outdoors and strangers are conversing excitedly as they do during disasters when their involvement is peripheral. 'What did he look like? ' the lieutenant is asking. 'I don't know, ' says the witness. 'He was naked.' There is talk of dogs-this is no ordinary case of indecent exposure, the man has been seen a dozen times since the milkman spotted him and now the sky is turning purple and voices carry a long way and the children have gone a little crazy as they often do at dusk and cars are arriving from other sections of the city. And the mysterious naked man is kneeling behind a garbage can or lying on his belly in somebody's garden or maybe even hiding in the branches of a tree, where the wind from the harbour whips at his naked body, and by now he's probably done whatever it was he wanted to do and wishes he could go to sleep or die or take to the air like Superman.