Captain Michigan and the Grungy City

The night was misty and full of rain. A perverted wind slithered between the skyscrapers, lifting the skirts of the prostitutes and whipping the ash from the ends of the pimps' cigars. Somewhere a car alarm was abruptly silenced, replaced by the howl of spinning tires.

Captain Michigan looked out over Grungy City, his expression stolid, his glass half-full of gin and tonic.

"Crud," he said into the teeth of the gale. He did this with great effort, as his window was closed. He compensated by being extra squinty. Like that other paragon of crime-bashing and badguy-spanking...ol' what's-his-name...Squint Eastwood.

"Come on, CM. Just sit down. Hang up your shield and come back to the game. It's your turn," said Captain Michigan's girl, a classy dame named Leggy Smalls.

"By the goofy little tufts on the side of my head that vaguely resemble wings!" Captain Michigan roared, "I will not rest until--!"

"Darling, we know about your dedication to kicking crime in the dinky," Leggy interrupted. "It's basically your entire persona. You want me to roll for you? You're on Baltic right now."

Captain Michigan beat his begauntleted fist upon his mitten-shaped shield, the reverberant bonnnng! echoing 'round the apartment. "And betray my city? Leggy! I thought you knew me better than that."

"Stop calling me 'Leggy'."

"Yo, Mitch, you owe me sixty bucks from last time you landed on one of my railroads. We gonna keep playing or did you want to go punch some pimps tonight? The rain's gonna get your mask all soggy, but I'll still go with you if you want," said Captain Michigan's faithful sidekick, Dude Detroit.

"Don't encourage him!" scolded Leggy.

"By the lumpy waters of the great Grand River, let it be so!" Captain Michigan fetched up his Saginaw sword and buckled on his belt of sand bombs. "To the Chevy!" he cried.