Wolfman moved to town and tried to give it a go. He got a job digging holes and skulked around after dark, eating possums. His big paws slipped across the median strip and the rail corridor without a sound. His shadow stretched long up the sidewalks but no one looked out of their window to see it. His fur became as flat and worn as the seat of an old chair. He got fired from his job digging holes. He howled at the moon from his balcony on the second floor. Why do I have to be good, he howled. Why do I have to haul this stomach around. And what about these paws. And the moon howled back only moonbeams. And the cops showed up. Wolfman had a beer in his hand when he opened the door and he apologised for his appearance. And the cops felt sorry for him.

Read →