Halloween, Alright

So I'm spraying the shit out of my sofa with this toxic bed bug crap because even though the exterminators can find no proof (and one exterminator lost my sole bug that I gave him for the lab), I'm convinced I have them, and the door bell rings. I'm convinced it's 9C. Two quick bells. Ding! Ding! I don't answer. I could go down the hall and look through the peep hole, but then the person on the other end would know that I was home. You know? Normally, this is my favorite holiday of bitterness. I celebrate by listening to all the kids parade through the building while I do not sign the building Trick or Treat Sign-In Sheet as an Halloween-friendly apartment doling out candy. Instead I sit on my sofa, drinking. Listening. Not this year.