Only one pack of kids came by, late. Knock knock!

I wheeled my IV machine over to the door, slowly, menacing. Opening it, crouched over, tubes running from my arm, from the machine. Looking across the doorway to them - a ragtag batch of scavengers in the darkness.

I knew the ritual and I was prepared. I harbored a full bowl of candy close to my chest. What is your costume, I asked each, leaning close to their face. A tiny knight, a skeleton, vampires all came in close and explained themselves, offering a plastic bag for love.

Their chaperone, a chubby man with maybe a few years on me, his face was streaked above his sweatshirt. What's your costume? He patted his hand over his mouth, "woo! woo! woo! woo!" I didn't reply, I just gave him a mini-Twix.

Finally a young woman stepped up. What's your costume? I'm a ghetto princess. What's the difference between a ghetto princess and a regular princess? A ghetto princess runs the ghetto. For pointing out the truth and warranting any questioning, I gave her a second piece of candy. Give me more she demanded! We went back and forth over the issu. It was past 10.30 - I could see her compadres running across the street from house to house, gesturing each other about - a late night treat strike force. I gave her another piece of candy, and took a picture in return.

The ghetto princess is on the right, in the tiara.