Last weekend, the people on the block where I live had a block party of sorts.
The head party dude likes to set up these “drinking parties” here. His wife, on the other hand, sets up more mundane gatherings. Well, I suppose this way, this couple covers it all.
Well, the rules of the “Drink or Treat” this past weekend were, if you were one to participate: turn on your garage lights at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, set up a table with cups and booze, and either wait for other neighbors to stop by and have a cold one with you, OR you can just cruise the block on foot and drink to your heart’s content at other neighbors’ tables.
I did not participate, but I did happen to catch a glimpse of a killer clown, a convict, a dog walker, and lots and lots of old people in shorts, knee-high socks, sweaters, and sandals.
The next morning, the block was eerily quiet. No cars running, no people talking. No sign of life all day.
Hangovers are rough.
©2022, excerpt from “Postcards from the Ridge”
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