Living Alone by H. Donald Cabinet

I remember, in youth, dressing up for this holiday. Incognitus, soliciting sugary sweets on the eve of All Saints'. As a resilient twelve-year-old caterpillar, the bulky, modified sweat suit could not discourage my candylust. Not even the teenaged boys who sliced my pillow case with box-cutters. Not even the older girls who giggled (perhaps adoringly) at my tinfoil anthropod appendages.