By the end of the night, those stilts and trenchcoats would be turned into burning effigies, while the Littles who hadn’t slinked back to their trailers danced around chanting “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! Mommy! Daddy! I didn’t do it!”.
If this sounds terribly debaucherous, it’s because it is. If Amazons took their name and bits of culture from tales of Ancient Grease, then Littles adopted the revelries of Dionysus. If you’re reading about this and you think it’s immature, then I’m betting you’re not a Little.
For me, and countless people like me, every day is a careful balancing act of precision and restraint. We hide and try not to be noticed. We don’t drink for fear of it dulling our senses. We watch our words carefully, afraid that if we say something or DON’T say something, our independence will be taken from us.