About a year ago, I moved into this house in San Marcos. It's up on a really steep hill in a cul-de-sac. I bought a few bags of candy for the kids. I'm never home on Halloween, but like to leave a bowl out. I always assume when I get home it'll be gone. Hell, I wouldn't trust myself at 10 not to take 23 Snicker bars. But, there's always a substantial amount left when I get home (for the sake of my diet, I wish there wasn't).

My neighbor told me the other day he sees one, maybe two kids at his door each Halloween (that's all I needed to hear; half the bag of candy is already gone!)

I also figured, with the bad air quality from the fires, and Halloween on a week night, there probably won't be a lot of trick or treaters anyway.

I remember, since my stepdad was a letter carrier, walking his route in Mira Mesa. I think it was 250 houses, but I'm not sure. My brothers and I were tired by house 25, with our empty pillow cases becoming full of candy, and the adults giving it to us saying "Hello Mailman John!" and then given us a few extra pieces because of it.

Well, if it was me at 10, I'd wear a gas mask if the fires made the air quality bad, or if there was a world war, or whatever. I'd walk up hills, barefoot in the snow, for a tiny bite size (don't even get me started on that stupid phrase) Mr. Goodbar.

Wait a second. That last line sounded like something my dad would say. Oh damn. I have turned into him.