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”