His Lordship

His Lordship live by night. A siren will sound, and they will strip off their street clothes, revealing their superhero costumes beneath: sharp black suits, starched white shirts, and Chelsea boots polished till they gleam. They will descend, into the dark spaces beneath the streets, into speakeasies and clubs where the lights are low and the air hangs heavy with whiskey fumes. There will be a small stage at one end of the room, a couple of amps, a couple of mics and a drum kit. And there His Lordship will do their work. The devil’s work, or the Lord’s work? Who knows? Not even they can be sure, or even care.