I’m at that age where half my friends are married or might-as-well-be-married and the other half are still out macking and sowing wild oats and doing all those things that single people do which I, in my two years of singledom, have never really developed a taste for.

Generally, an unplanned weekend is anathema to a nine-to-fiver like myself, and that isn’t usually a problem because I have a bunch of people who are always, always, around to play with. This weekend, everyone is leaving town. The marrieds, the singles...even my severely agoraphobic friend is taking off.

I Am Alone.

But that means I get a weekend date with my Porch!

Ah, the Porch. The source of my interweb moniker, as well as the site of hours of reflection and observation. I’ve never had a porch before, and I don’t think I’ll be going back to porchlessness anytime soon. I live about 3 km from downtown Vancouver in an older neighbourhood...a formerly dodgy area presently undergoing Starbucksification. It’s an area in transition. I see hippies, I see homeless guys with their shopping carts filled with bottles, I see young single mothers, I see old Chinese grannies, I see suits in BMWs. In summer, I see plenty of pretty girls in sundresses. Whoever invented sundresses should get a great big trophy.

I sit, I drink beer, and I watch the world go by. I also watch the world that stays...my fascinating neighbours.

My favourite neighbour is the kid across the street. My roommate and I have been watching him for two years. I know that sounds creepy, but bear with me here...we're not pedophiles, we're just fans.

We don’t know his name, and we don’t want to, because then he would no longer be a superhero.

We took a long while to name him. We knew it had to be a strong name, but also something that he's likely to have been picked on for. Superheroes need some humility. We decided it had to be one syllable, and that it should start with K.

We toyed with "Keith" and "Kyle", but then we had it: what better name is there for a superhero than “Kent”?

Kent is about 14. He’s got a really low voice, he’s tall and skinny, and he has matured faster than his friends, who are much smaller and about 12. Kent plays swords with his friends. He has shiny plastic ones, and his friends have bamboo and wood. Kent is good at swords, and also shields. His shield is made of plywood, and has a dragon on it.

Kent likes to climb trees. He prefers a black ash tree in front of his house and has attached a knotted rope to it to reduce the need for shimmying. Kent hangs out in the tree and makes small strange sounds when passersby go under it. I don’t think they see him, because he can become invisible.

Kent has a leather trenchcoat. It’s old and gross, and it flies out behind him like a cape when he rides his bike. I don’t know where he goes, but he sure goes there fast...I’m sure it has to be heroic.

Kent never, ever wears shoes. We don’t get much snow in Vancouver, but I once saw him shoveling his walk in bare feet.

All these things are observable proof of Kent’s superherodom.

The other day, for the first time ever, I saw Kent with someone other than his parents or his 12-year-old minions.

Kent brought a Girl home.

I don’t know her name either, but I’m leaning towards Delilah. Want to know why?

For the first time ever, Kent was wearing shoes.

I’ve already noticed that there have been fewer swordfights. I guess it won’t be long before I find Kent on my porch, looking to score some weed.

My roommate and I are both creative types. We’re both trained animators, and we’re consequently quite good with our hands. We have a plan for the day we move out of our house.

We’re going to make an action figure. Of Kent. He’ll be fully articulated, and he’ll come with a trenchcoat, some swords, and some other useful accessories. He’ll be sealed in fully designed and printed packaging, and on the cardboard back there will be a stats card you can only read with a piece of clear red plastic (included). We’ll leave it on his doorstep in the dead of night, with no explanation.

I'll feel better that I will have done my best to remind Kent of his duty to all us mere mortals. The world needs all the superheroes it can get.

Meanwhile, back on the Porch, I'll be fashioning a Kent Signal from a spotlight I bought at a garage sale.

Hell, every Kentman needs his Commissoner Matty.