Found this little journal entry from 2001, and decided to revive it, what with there having recently been another full moon on Halloween. An even more egregiously lost opportunity, I say, since COVID’s a lot more prevalent and effective in its deadly work than any terrorist at a single crowded bar would have been before being stopped.
It’s exactly the type of day you’d want for a Halloween. Cool. Cold, even. The kind of day you wear a sweatshirt and a jacket to stay warm, but take the jacket off if you’re playing football. You can’t see your breath yet, and the grey clouds above us sprinkle a few meager specks without daring to comit anymore.
It’s my last Halloween in college, and I can’t do anything because those terrorist bastards have everybody either expecting an attack or planning one.
So I sit here, no costume, no party, no nothing, renting ghoul flicks and realizing I don’t even have any orange-and-black to wear.
The first full moon on a Halloween in 57 years, I’m told, and the clouds actually part for her majesty only.