We were too old to Trick-Or-Treat, but old enough to go egging. Furie, me, and three other local boys. We were fifteen. All afternoon we spent harassing young trick-or-treaters. It didn't matter that adults escorted them. We had a plan. We hid behind the high hedges that lined the gardens in Sunnyside, just waiting until they got in range. Then we synchronized a volley of eggs. One volley per party was the rule. We couldn't afford to waste all our eggs on the tykes. We wanted to see them scurry about in fear. A good laugh. It didn't matter whether we hit anyone. This was mere practice for the night campaign.

Joe was the son of a diplomat to some African nation. It was a surprise to see him that day. We hadn't seen him around for almost six months. He told us about his travelling with the family, how he just came back last week, stories, stories, stories. We were jealous. Didn't he have to go to school like the rest of us? It was a good thing we met up. He would make our night.

"What d'you got there--in that bag?" I said.

"Oh, just been trick-or-treating," Joe said. We all looked at him cross-eyed. "For my little sister. She's sick," He quickly added. A likely story, we all thought.

"Quit the kid stuff, Joe. Go egging with us," Furie said. "We're expecting Robbie and his thugs later on."

"Right now, we need some more eggs," I added. We had eight left for the six of us.

Joe agreed. The three local boys held down the fort, while the three of us went shopping at C-Town to replenish our munition of eggs. Not surprisingly, there was a run on eggs at the supermarket, and a run-up on the price. We scraped up enough money to buy the three cartons of eggs, grade A extra large, a good half-dozen for the six of us. Outside the supermarket, we each took one carton, just in case we were attacked, and made our way back.

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