Whimsy mixes with the stubble on your chin. An incongruous pair, but one that hangs on you like a cloak.
You walk next to me, not quite equals, but less youth and more man.
Except for tonight.
Tonight you wrapped yourself in the trappings of childhood. You donned your youth like it was the treasure and not the burden.
And you trick-or-treated with your mom.
At 17.
Hipstory 