I was twelve years old, excited, knowing Pak-a-Sak had the new comic books on display.
I’d outgrown Archie, Richie Rich, Donald Duck and Casper years earlier, and very recently and reluctantly, Superman, Incredible Hulk, Fantastic Four, and Batman. I was older now. Wouldn’t be cool to get caught scanning the comic book racks.
But there was one I couldn’t’ give up. One I still clung to. One I was willing to sneak out and purchase, quickly and quietly, like a thief in the night.
I loved Kid Colt like a ten-year-old loves puppies. The Kid was cool. Only needed one gun. Had a horse named Steel, and a back story that’d make you cry. Well, maybe not cry. But, you know. The Kid lived by a creed (a Donovan Creed, you ask?) The Kid was an outlaw, wrongly accused. Went from town to town, always one step ahead of the law. Everywhere he went, he’d right a wrong.