Sunday, October 28, 2012


Barbie from the Paragraph Factory (the same delightful woman who introduced me over the summer to the Shady Bar Bus Tour) held her annual Halloween bash on Saturday night — 20 years now and still going strong. I went as Albert Einstein, a holiday costume made easy by naturally unkempt hair and the shaving of the beard.

(I forgot why I kept a beard until I shaved it off. The regrowing of the beard has already commenced.)

Of course it was fun; anytime you throw a hundred-plus people and alcohol in the same warehouse, revelry is bound to ensue. Factor in the weird people Barbie knows and you can't miss. Early on I bumped into a woman and spilled her drink, prompting a great immediate sarcastic response: "Way to go, Einstein." I had a couple of excuses for my boneheaded mistake: I was working on a sliver of sleep since Thursday, and my mind was several hundred miles away — far and wee, as E.E. Cummings once wrote.

I was thinking about Jack and Sally, about The Shining, about Halloweens past and future, about good memories gone bad and empty. I went outside to smoke a fag and looked into the black sky at the moon and thought about taking a walk and never stopping — just one foot in front of the other, through the cold night air, through the city and into the countryside. I wondered how far I could go before falling face-first from grateful exhaustion.

I wondered if anything will ever be alright again, and laughed at the absurdity. My mind was somewhere else in the middle of a party. I already had my answer. I mean, fuck, you don't need an Einstein to figure it out.

This is Halloween.

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