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Night of the Hunters

The city of Shrewsbury welcomes the young at heart for an adult Easter-egg hunt

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You are running, in the night, through a large public park. You run by a baseball diamond, looking under the benches and at each base. You run diagonally across the field -- it's a long way to run, and you really haven't done any sprinting in a while, but you are sprinting now.

You need to get away from the others.

You run into the woods. There is a trail -- you follow it by flashlight. There -- under a bush, you spy ... an egg. You grab and throw the plastic Easter egg into a pillowcase. You want to know what sort of prize is inside, but that will have to wait.

You run farther down the trail, into the woods. It gets really dark -- without the flashlight, you'd be lost. You've left the others behind now, because they are searching for their eggs in such obvious places -- by the jungle gym, in the drinking fountain, on the volleyball court.

But you know that some of these eggs were hidden by someone like you -- someone tricky. These eggs will not be easy to find -- they may never be found, you think. And these eggs tucked in obscure pockets, these, you figure, in theory, should be the eggs with the really good prizes inside. You scamper on down the trail.

There, resting in the nook of a Y-shaped tree, is another egg. Into the pillowcase it goes.

You reconsider. Many of these eggs were probably hidden by folks sensitive to the plight of the unimaginative. They weren't hidden deep in the dark woods at the periphery of the park but in more obvious places, after all. You sprint back down the trail and out of the woods. People with flashlights and bags are running all over the park -- it's a surreal scene. You must -- you will -- find more eggs than anyone else.

You run.

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