The spike on my tongue wasn’t dissolving and I had not a clue why the weather was turning to snow. Another early season frozen whirly-pop again this year dictating the evenings plans of party to party to show to couch to sad sappy sucker come down trauma. What’s the point of making a scene when you can be your own seen, live your dream for one day as a character you desire… fantasy, be the spirit. I’m a hot dog, all beef, spicy with extra mustard. Everyone knew the judges at the costume contest were paid hush money under the table. Out of my haze on the a random stoop speaking bluntly with her as the horse drawn pumpkin disappeared careening a caravan of my so called revelers away as the monster mash was on repeat. Adults are children, I can’t remember their names. Everything had happened so fast, my money was no good anywhere and I was still confused why asparagus makes your pee smell funny as the cold set walking don’t follow me home. Haunt or be haunted, keep on ghouling, dissolving down to hell.