Hit and Run and Monkey Blood
unsuspecting driver of a late-1960s-vintage Ford sedan.
"Now!" I spat as the car reached our block. In a flash my friend Jim sprinted into the beam of the car's headlights. The rest of us pursued, catching him perfectly in the center of the street. Five pairs of arms flailed, each arm cutting a convincing arc through the air and stopping just short of impact. Jim doubled over in fake distress, groaning loudly. As he rolled to the pavement the rest of us dashed away to a nearby hiding place, our excitement growing as we watched the car stop and the driver get out to offer help. On cue Jim jumped to his feet, and with a loud "Ha!" he was off and running between the houses, leaving the driver standing dumbstruck in disbelief. Laughing hysterically, the rest of us exchanged high fives and fled into the darkness, heading toward the grassy fields south of Lakewood School.