pough

It is extremely gratifying to walk around my neighbourhood on Halloween, once the sun has set and the little kiddies have scurried and crept home to hasten the arrival of adult-onset diabetes, once the punk teens have slunk forth to slouch about with their popping fancies and tarty hangers-on.

I walked up the street to the Red Onion, where they have exceptional tuna burgers (but I had the also-good veggie burger) and pints of local ale for $2.75. On the way there, I felt like I was witnessing a parade of idiots. You know, even when I was a teenager, I didn't feel much respect for them. I even handed in an art project once that merely stated "teenagers are the lowest forms of life". I was 16 at the time.

Anyways, on the way back, there were even more of them. And I got the same response every time. A quick look in my direction with an expression that indicated the thought of some devilish treatment and ensuing amusement. Then they would look down to where their fire and explosives were. Then I'd get a second look, but now the expression looked more doubtful.

"Should I inflict devlish treatment on a man who looks like the devil? A devil who looks like he's holding a black rock the size of a baseball in one hand?"

Actually, punks, it was a red onion.