The costume is a vampire. The kid inside the costume is also a vampire. This has not occurred to anyone on the street.
"Great mask," says Mr. Delaney at number twelve, dropping a fun size into the sack.
"Thank you," says the vampire, who ordered it from the back of a comic book for $4.95 plus shipping, and who is deeply insulted that it is the best likeness available.
The smock says VAMPIRE across the chest in case anybody's confused. The eye holes don't line up. The elastic band has already snapped once and been retied.
Two blocks over there's a blood drive in the Lutheran church basement, all those little bags lined up in a cooler, unattended, marked by type.
He's been thinking about it all week. He's got a route.
