Adjusting his hat on top of his head was harder than he’d anticipated when he’d reached up to complete the motion. The Knives jabbed him in his forehead and cheek, just shy of his right eye. So he left his hat where it was, slightly off center and tilted to the side —fairly faithful to the real Fred Kruger if he were being honest, but Kal had never done hats well. They either made his head too hot, or they gave him a headache. Hats and crowns.
“Do we dance at these sort of things or are we only meant to sit around and admire each other’s costumes? There’s less banjo and drunken sloshing than Disney would have me believe.” Kal wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. The beach was so crowded and loud that he almost expected his statement to go unheard and unanswered.
