Hal Rosen trudged slowly from the train station toward home.  One block . . . two on narrow shoveled sidewalks between sheer cliffs of snow.

The third block had even more hazards awaiting.  Four demons lurked houses away.  He saw their knit caps rise and fall behind a snowbank.

But Rosen was ready for the barrage of snowballs he expected.

Pausing briefly, he reached into both overcoat pockets with gloved hands.

Then he charged forward, hurling his own hand-made munitions.

“Geronimo!” he yelled.