Two undershirts, turtlenecks, and shirts; two pairs of thermal pants, spandex pants, socks, and shoes; one spider and another Thomas the Train costume; two neon glow sticks, two pumpkin baskets and one flashlight later, and we were off into the night.
Said Tyler, three houses down the road: “It’s dark. I want to go home.”
This year, I’d say, the trick was most definitely on me.
As Hartford’s “Butt Ugly Building” comes down, I have to wonder if we’re giving it a fair chance. From low-income housing in the ‘50s to gang wars in of the ‘80s, right up to the conviction of Mayor Eddie Perez, it embodies the rich history of our capital city. Who knows? A fresh coat of paint, some curtains on its boarded-up windows, a spread of clean needles for the heroin addicts, and we could really spruce it up.
A pumpkin thief has pillaged the neighborhood, and this morning looked like Whoville Village after the Grinch stole Christmas. To you, the scandal has a carload of teenagers written all over it—but I know the truth. For generations, we’ve been gutting, carving, and mutilating innocent squash by the millions, leaving them to rot on our doorsteps. The Great Pumpkin is pissed. Nonbelievers, prepare to roll in November with a plague of rotten eggs, whipped cream, silly string, stink bombs, toilet paper, and bags of dog poop with firecrackers. You never know how He’ll unleash his vengeance next.
Our neighbors across the street have two Basset Hounds named Bill and Hillary. Hillary has all the balls, and Bill just sits around all day licking his. I’m not making any kind of political statement here. Just an observation.