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Credit: Alice Ren , Alice Ren

It’s 11 p.m. It’s 40 degrees out, but we’re the only ones who seem to have bothered with coats. Yells of “two to one,” spontaneous shrieks and the clatter of heels on the sidewalk fill the air near 40th and Spruce streets.

We were sober on Halloween. This is our story.

11:07 p.m. — We slide into a booth at Allegro. Cinderella sits next to us with an assortment of friends, and a bunny shakes some pepper flakes onto a slice of pizza a few tables over. Near them sits one of many Rosie the Riveters and a fellow Minion noshing on some fries by the window.

In the back, a family defies the norm as they relish a serving of cheese fries. Some in the Allegro crowd are casually eating and sipping a beer before they go out, and some seem like they’ve already passed the crux of their nights.

11:15 p.m. — A guy in a purple unicorn onesie walks into Allegro accompanied by someone dressed up as a bottle of Gold Bond body powder. They’re followed by an angel and her three cats.

11:31 p.m. — Intrigued by what’s happening outside our booth, we depart Allegro and make our way down Spruce. We barely make it half a block before passing a gaggle of Catholic schoolgirls teetering down the street. One of them gets her heel caught on the sidewalk and nearly falls.

11:42 p.m. — The night continues as we end up outside a frat party and are greeted by a self-dubbed “Republican douche” donning a Reagan-Bush T-shirt, camouflage-print bandanna and slicked-back hair a la a Wharton networking event.

When he finds out we’re reporters, he takes his opportunity to make a statement. “People use Halloween as an excuse to dress like sluts, which is a change from the typical,” he declares. “But with all the new alcohol and registration regulations, Penn is really fucking up the social life. They’re being Big Brother. Not allowing open parties encourages binge drinking during pregames, which is really dangerous. And frats are resorting to things like tailing the LCE monitors so their parties don’t get busted.”

As we converse with the Republican, the brother at the door is consistently shooing costumed Penn students away from the gates.

“People have no fucking clue what’s going on or how to get through the gate,” he said. “All your senses have to be on because people get creative.” The Republican, though, ushers us right inside the party. After a quick “tour,” which highlights fluorescent bottles of Grey Goose behind the bar, it is back to the street.

12:15 a.m. — As we walk up Walnut, we see the night has taken one of its first victims. Both indistinctly dressed, one man supports his intoxicated friend through the crosswalk on 38th and Walnut streets. We narrowly avoid being hit by an impatient driver crossing Walnut and make our way toward the heart of campus, watching the silhouettes dancing on the 38th Street bridge.

We get to Locust Walk just as a fraternity party breaks up. People are not pleased. One kid with a bike helplessly asks passersby how to get back to Haverford.

“I want you to outlive me because otherwise it would make me sad,” a girl dressed as an adult joker says to friend.

“Diddy has his own party — where’s my yacht?” a guy dressed, ironically, as P Diddy yells just past the bridge.

Approaching the compass, a party at a fraternity house on Locust is in full swing. While most are hopping the fence to avoid the bouncer, one girl has a different idea, knocking fruitlessly on the side door.

12:31 a.m. — As we approach Wawa, we are quickly outstripped by a guy in a Hawaiian shirt sprinting up Spruce. A girl dressed in sweatpants and a wife beater that is riding up her midriff binges on Nacho Cheese Doritos in the middle of the aisle. We consider a citizen’s arrest when she walks out without paying.

She was not the only one with a hands-on relationship with Wawa’s stock. Beware, the muffins left over in the case were all manhandled by Aladdin’s Prince Ali.

Outside Wawa, Angel and the Pussycats — we remember them from Allegro — make a second appearance, this one seemingly less sober than the last.

12:40 a.m. — We return to Allegro, where a shoeless mermaid is screaming “it’s my birthday” and a tall kimono-clad male is singing by himself near the pizza line.

We press on to face our biggest challenge of the night — the Allegro bathroom line. Our company includes someone dressed as a blood type, a human loofa, some basketball players and, later, an actual member of the police force.

“This is the worst thing of all time. I’m so upset and I can do nothing about it,” says a hybrid boxer/Hugh Hefner who is distraught by the length of the line. But he definitely had a shaved chest.

“I just pee all the time,” Harvey Dent adds.

Back in line, two girls who have taken their costumes quite literally are screaming “ninjas” as they try to force open the locked Allegro side door. At this point, the policeman loses his patience and cuts to the front of the line.

1:00 a.m. — We wrap up the night on Locust Walk. But as we sit on a bench, three men approach and start talking to us in a language we don’t understand. Registering our confusion, they swap to English and ask us if we’re Russian. We give them fake names and wait for them to leave.

Once they’re gone, we experience one of the quieter parts of the night. As people wander home, we catch parts of their conversations.

“Do I have my jacket?” “...You’re wearing it.”

“Tomorrow I will be a freaking short giraffe.”

“I can’t run. Even if I wanted to I’d die.”

Meanwhile, we can see Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable making out in a tree outside Rodin. A security guard eyes them but does nothing.

Running into friends later, we hear about the craziest thing we didn’t see that night — a girl walking by Fro Gro in only a North Face and a thong.

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