Fuck that fun-size bullshit

Walking in the rain on the way to work this morning I was negotiating with coffee and gloves, umbrella hanging on the twisted knot at the back of my head, when I was abruptly splashed from behind by a filthy spray from the street, compliments of a passing sport utility vehicle. It soaked through my jacket, my sweater, reached my skin. It was gross. I forgot about it. My umbrella turned inside out. I turned into the wind.

Coming home late, I opted to take the other side of the street, navigating deep puddles in the drizzle, and came within one small step of being run down by a preoccupied business-man who did not notice me, even as I stood at his elbow, and sped away from his parking spot without ever knowing I'd been there. If I'd been moving one second faster he'd have hit me dead-on. Or seen me. Or both.

The rain fell light and fast on the way home, no drops but wipers on high, another dark and dreary evening of this wretched season. I can't remember a Fall so foul. I crossed the river to a familiar intersection, where someone always waits, and as I made that soft turn felt the warmth of my own involuntary pull toward home. As I approached the last light at the top of the hill, a black cat scurried across my path.

That's about how my day was, not that anyone was asking.

So the Bare Bones show this year is Devoured. Toward it I look eagerly forward, as always, trusting that it will not fail to cast a flickering light into our darkest corridors, however briefly, and show us the teeth and hands of the strange, shadowy night we know as Halloween. Wear your mask, lantern lit.