**Title: Halloween Haunts and Sub Snafus**
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Under the deepening twilight of Halloween night, Rick Carson stepped into Penn Station East Coast Subs in downtown Hamilton, Ohio. The store’s bright lights and the aroma of freshly baked bread were inviting, but it was the thought of an Italian sub that really drove Rick’s cravings. He was a sucker for those flavorful combinations—salami, pepperoni, ham, and provolone, piled high on a warm, toasted roll.
“Make it a large,” he told the sandwich artist, “and add extra onions and pepperoncinis. Lots of ’em.”
As the sandwich artist loaded the sub with fiery pepperoncinis and a double helping of onions, Rick felt a rumble in his stomach. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, thinking it was just anticipation or maybe the lingering effects of the extra large coffee he had earlier. Halloween was a night for indulgence, after all.
Sub in hand, he left the shop, the paper wrapping quickly growing greasy from the generous fillings. He took his time with the sandwich, savoring every bite as he wandered through the festive streets. Halloween decorations adorned every house, and costumed children scurried from door to door, their laughter echoing in the night air. Rick couldn’t help but smile as he watched them, reminded of simpler times.
Finishing the last bite, Rick tossed the wrapper into a nearby trash can and patted his stomach with satisfaction. But as he did, that earlier rumble intensified into a sharp pang. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and he could feel the chill of the October evening in his bones.
Ignoring the discomfort, Rick continued on, heading towards Joe Nuxhall’s baseball field. It was a bit of a tradition for him to take a quiet walk there every Halloween, remembering the games he played in his youth and the fun times with friends who had long since moved away. Tonight, however, the journey was proving to be more challenging than usual.
With each step, Rick’s discomfort grew. The onions and pepperoncinis, which had tasted so delightful earlier, now churned ominously in his gut. He picked up his pace, hoping to reach the field quickly so he could sit down and perhaps let his stomach settle.
As he approached the entrance to Joe Nuxhall’s field, the pain in his stomach became impossible to ignore. It twisted and turned like a living thing inside him, and he knew he needed a restroom, urgently. Unfortunately, the field’s facilities were notoriously unreliable, often locked this late at night.
Rick’s mind raced, and he felt a wave of panic. He quickened his steps, but his body had reached its limit. As he passed the worn wooden benches and the rusted chain-link fence, his worst fear was realized. The cramps crescendoed, and he felt a sudden, uncontrollable release.
He stood there, frozen in place, disbelief etched across his face. The reality of his situation was stark and inescapable. Halloween night, a time for scares and pranks, had played a cruel trick on him.
Rick looked around, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, thankful for the darkness that hid his shame. The baseball field, usually a place of cherished memories, had become a stage for his mortification. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the stench began to rise around him, assaulting his nostrils with its acrid presence.
With careful steps, he moved towards the edge of the field, avoiding the main paths and sticking to the shadows. His car was parked a few blocks away, and the thought of getting there unnoticed was both a challenge and a small beacon of hope. Rick steeled himself, his mind already crafting a plan for the quickest route home and the immediate shower that awaited him.
Despite the unpleasantness, a small part of Rick managed to see the humor in his situation. Halloween night, known for its tricks, had outdone itself this year. As he skulked through the dimly lit streets, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all, his laughter echoing softly as he disappeared into the night, a humbled but wiser man.
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