I wish I had had more trick-or-treaters last night.
We had none. We have had none since moving to Rochester. (This was our third Halloween here.)
Ironically we used to have upwards of 100 when we lived on Roosevelt Island, right there in the middle of the East River. It was a more family-friendly apartment community, I guess, as opposed to our current situation on which we are on a fairly busy road (relatively speaking, of course. It's no Queens Boulevard, aka the Boulevard of Death). We are also on the side of the street that has no sidewalk, though we do have a rather wide shoulder.
Our favorite trick-or-treater, however, was one (he was probably between 8 - 12) who was not satisfied with the little treat bags we were dispensing. The dear partner and I were in the midst of dinner when we answered the door when this particular reveler came a-calling. (Since it was Halloween, we figured we would eat in the living room, and therefore be closer to the door, since we knew we would be busy.) Before we closed the door, the lad was able to gaze into the living room, and piped up: "Hey, can I get a piece of fried chicken, too?"
Which reminds me of the other favorite ToT'er we had. I wasn't home for this one, but was told about it as soon as I walked in after work. (Now, you have to remember that the apartments on Roosevelt Island have fairly open floor plans, with much flexibility.) A little 3-year old girl, dressed as a duck or a swan or some such, strode right into the apartment when the Dear Partner opened the door. She took in the landscape surrounding her and proclaimed "I like what you did with it!" or something similar.