A cliche, (and all true) account of haloween

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we were some where south of san diego
ten minutes from the border of mexico im told
"were's the inland empire?"
I didnt bring a costume
i was starting to think of life as too much of a costume already
here we were, and the streets were going mad, there was a serious danger to this place
la is nothing compared to the seediness of this border town, and yet, here they were, the young,
the not married, the near twenties and early thirties mediocrity gone amuk
there were homeless, taking to the streets and butting cigarettes at young pretty girls
walking by, the homeless had a kind of uniformity to them all, not like homeless in downtown los angeles, they all looked like the fall out of entire generation,probably in san francsico in the 60's-
the hippie children, of love and flowers and happiness, of free love, of being "one with the world" and becoming vegatarian, "ALL WE ARE SAYING IS GIVE PEACE A CHANCE," ya, those people, forty years later...here they all seemed to be, in this border town-they had done too many drugs, lost teeth, had long, cutting, lines of greese, and filth, carving into their faces, as the result of forty years of sleeping under freeways, sleeping in vans...they had lost it, tim leary screamed "TURN IN TURN OUT" and they did, and here they all are. they slowly crawled south from san francisco to the fringes of the country...Mike was dressed as something between a warrior with an actual steel helmut, and real dear antlers sprouting from the helmet, and a balarina skirt, it was when he put on the leather jacket that i thought of you, Ken, wore authentic leaderhossen he bought in germany from an man in his 80's who was the countries best authentic leaderhossen tailor it took him a day to make kens custome hossen. he looked like he had been casted in a fifties musical about happy germans, Sirus, he took a razoz to his head and spend two hours carving shapes into his skull, removing hair, im not sure what he was, be he was. The evening was surreal, as it should be, the balarina viking warrior walked into other peoples parties and we slowly shuffled in behind, we heard groups of gutter punks-the new hippies, banging on belly dancer drums while two gangster looking shadows came over and started free flowing over the drums, it was after that about 4:30-5:00 that we ran into her, she was sulking into a pay phone in front of a 7-11, she saw us and asked us if we had any alcohol, we had alcohol coming out of jackets, spilling into streets, on dance people in clubs, i carried three bottles of southern comfort, but there was something wrong with her, she liked to quietly sneek up on people, it was her gift. she was old and creepy looking, drugged, and wearing all black, wispy black, like you couldnt really catch a glance of her eyes, she hid them into her clothes, she told me I was "looking for trouble" because of the way i dressed-my costume-trouble? It was a harmless costume, why me? Why you, crazy old vaporish hag, are you talking to me?" I started walking away from her, I stopped at the corner and turned around to see she was walking exactly behind me step by step, I turned in time to see her try to steal my wallet. The other guys caught up and I didnt say anything, but I should have, something about her had gotten under the skin of the other guys, we didnt know how to get rid of her, we sent her on an errand to buy cigarettes and when she did, we ran, we ran like athletes, turning a corner, we stopped, smiled, and started walking, just as we caught our breath we turned around to see her standing right behind us, we were breathing hard and she said "hey you guys." It was at this time that a police car went by and turned around back towards us, she disappeared. Later that night we got home, mike checked the pictures from his camera, there was something wrong with the ones of me, the eyes, or more correctly, in the reflection of myy glasses, it like something was moving towards me, behind me, as the picture was being taken