The pants Gerry was wearing were so tight that he was convinced the button was about to let go at any minute. Though he didn’t have anything quite crazy enough to pull off his idea perfectly, he had found a pair of flared pants in the back of his closet and a bright orange shirt that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of. He’d done his best to spike his hair and dug out his widest belt. It was the makeup that carried the costume, however: glitter along both cheekbones, blue above his eyes, and enough eyeliner to make raccoons jealous. He’d probably pay for using such old eye makeup with God could only know what kind of infectious horrors, but for the moment he didn’t care. Besides, a flaming eye infection would probably match perfectly with what would, most likely, be a simila
