Your Bite of the Day

A 1.5-inch story of complete bliss in a hustle’s reward

For months before I prepared.

The holiday was as much about scare tactics as young capitalist opportunity. Candy was commodity: to be sourced, to be mined — to be captured via masked hustle.

Time to get serious, Halloween evening is no time to stand around. Photos by Rachel and Conner Baker

The hand and home-made costume were all-original, or as near to complete as I could manage, imitating pop culture and my big brother’s influences.

My brother as a Ron Jeremy-esque monster something, training me early in Halloween circa 1984.

Routes were mapped and strategically assigned priority — targeted for Return on Visit value. Walten Woods, where the rich kids lived, was worth the hiking-trail shortcut through the strip of woods separating our socioeconomic classes.

Full-size candy bars and consistent, fast deliveries waited on the other side. Quality and quantity and efficiency were optimized — and there was no guilt in taking a little back, even if I wasn’t dressed as Robin Hood.

Harborcreek, my hood, had a strict 6–8pm Trick or Treating hours policy.

I was on the job by 5:50pm at the latest. At 8, the streetlights were blazing…