"Where are you going, old man?"

The voice belongs to that little girl who has been stalking you on your way to work recently. Now she's blocking your path, and her hungry gaze tells you in no uncertain terms that she is going to lick that thick, fleshy candy cane you have stuffed down your pants, no matter what you say. Drops of spittle are running down her chin in anticipation.

"You don't have to hide from me, oldtimer. I can smell that you're a candyman in disguise, you know..."