Mitts was dressed as the Fonz, but now lolled at me like Droopy Dog.
I couldn’t figure why. We’d decided Halloween was done for us. We were hungrily stuffing our faces. It wasn’t time to consider anything other than sugary satisfaction. We’d worked hard for our huge bags of swag. Enjoyment was set to last until Thanksgiving, at least. Mitts had decided to be like Ewell Gibbons, chomping into the toffee apple oozing with caramel and nuts.
There was a pulpy crunch, then my friend turned towards me.
“Roo rushes id luhg?” He garbled.
I guffawed out a chunk …