I feel certain that the mob of local citizens that I saw filling Party City this afternoon to the point of tick-fullness has just materialized on my street. Screaming and running and chatter and color combinations one rarely sees the other 364 days of the year – that’s what’s happening.
Currently, a ghost-boy and a bumble-boy are having a VERY LOUD debate on whether anyone lives in my house. I am in the living room. They are standing outside the unlocked screen door that opens onto the porch.
“No one lives here!”
“Uh, huh!”
“Open the door, then!”
“No, you do it!”
“No, you!”
The game of dare continues, the boys’ taunts overlapping to form a potentially endless stream of babble.
The mother, down at the sidewalk, intercedes. “Is the porch light on, boys?”
And they float and buzz away, which is probably a good thing for them, as the only treats I have to give them are Stick It In Your Ear! and Laser’s Edge Loves You CD Samplers. You can’t eat ’em.
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