Boris Karloff shops at Thrifty's...

It was his face, so startling in its melancholic cast: a pronounced bony brow ridge over deep, shadowed eyes and high cheekbones sweeping downward to a lantern jaw. His lips were wide and thin, now set in grim concentration.

He hovered over the avocadoes, his large-knuckled hands sorting through the bin with as he made his carful selections.

Frankenstein’s going to make Guacamole? I mused.

That he was elderly was evident in the deep crevices of his face, and his thin, lanky build. However, when he straightened to his full height I gasped at how tall he actually was…

Oops…did he hear me? I made busy checking out the cauliflower.

He was all of six foot plus tall…the impression of great height added to by the fact he wore a white Stetson hat, western boots…and, I noted, a canvas Duster coat.

I smiled to myself, Of course, if you’re Frankenstein what do you dress up as for Halloween—why a human being of course, perhaps a cowboy?

Later, I saw him again, just ahead of me at the Express cashier. A charming little lady was with him, his wife apparently. When the cashier, who seemed to know them both, said something. He laughed deeply and the crevices of his face wreathed a large-toothed smile

His wife laid three bags of Halloween treats down for the cashier to tally. “We get so many children come by,” she said, “and we always dress up for them.”

“What’re you going to be this year?” asked the cashier.

The little lady laughed, “Frankenstein and his bride!”