What Would A Werewolf Wear?

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m just one of those self-delusional Goths who sit alone drawing and thinking of unreal things. You would be right. At least that’s what I used to be before I met him.

I’d seen him around before, like at the gas station where I’d work. He’d always come in and fill up his red Porsche. Then he’d wipe us out of jerky and he’d take an orange slushy to go with it. I could predicate his order like clockwork.

He ate so much jerky that my coworkers all called him Jerk. I didn’t call him anything. He imitated me. He was the kind of boy I always lusted after but never did anything about. That was why I was so surprised that when I was walking home from work one late evening a red Porsche pulled up next to me. I didn’t know that this would change my life forever.