Halloween slips through the night.
Driving through an old neighborhood on my work break, watching out for children and the parental flashlights that tell me to slow down.
I thought this town had lost Halloween.
Years without trick-or-treaters coming to the door.
The times have changed this holiday into caution: candy not the same, maybe laced with something.
All the blacked-out houses losing the spirit, the inhabitants more keen on watching a movie made for television.
And what has Halloween become for me?
A bag of carrots on a work desk, watching the hours turn into money that will be in my pocket at the end of the week.
Paychecks keep me running;
the gas for my bones;
the fumes that I breathe in without fear of catching a cold.
If I could dress up as a bank account that would always replenish itself I would do it.