Temperatures are in the low 50s. My penultimate trick or treater was about 18 months old, very unsteady on his feet, and two-handedly helped by his mother. Normally, that's a 'how cute' moment.
But . . . the little boy dressed as Nacho Libre, from the Jack Black/Mexican wrestler movie. Or so mom proudly announced (she only said Nacho Libre; Google did the rest).
The tiny kid was barefooted, wearing tight short trunks over a diaper, a cape, and an eyeliner(?) mustache.
Low 50s and dropping. Barefooted. Bare chest and back. Bare arms. Bare legs. Soccer mom's right there. Somebody bought that cape/silky shorts costume (I trust at half price or less, because if it's true you get what you pay for, then you should only pay for what you get).
I hope to find the wormhole back to Earth this weekend.
That almost made me cry. I hate people. It’s probably a good thing I don’t get out much.
The wormhole back to Earth lands you in Key West. Not much of an improvement over your description.
Back from trick-or-treat with Kathleen and three brothers. She refused to be left at home. Sally and her friends have gone out now.
There’s a group of junior-high boys going around in zoot suits with a saxophone; I guess they’re the Sultans of Swing.
That....is lethal stupidity.