One day he would be the hero, he was sure of it.
He fantasised about saving his enemies from house fires, his friends from a train crash, total strangers from disasters and terrorists and bombs.
In his daydreams he arrived in the nick of time, acted decisively, was brave and resourceful.
Yet he lived a mundane, ordinary life. There was no call for heroics in caring for his grandparents, or helping out at the local school, or driving a cab, ferrying folks from A to where they wanted to be.
Sometimes he would try to help and do too much and he met resistance. People spurned him and he grew frustrated. He never thought they might need the space, the time, the chance to be their own hero, in their own lives.
That was his role. It was his tale that was being told.