by Jerry Judge
After watching the TV show about the vampire, ghost, and werewolf, I became a werewolf myself. Slowly at first. Against my will, a growl would slip out. After two weeks of heavy scratching, my social circle shrank. Yet, I felt euphoric, strong, and my nose was almost having orgasms of its own. I could smell every bead of sweat and drip of pee in town. I sniffed the bottom of a coed, which landed me in jail a few days. Other jailbirds gave me ample space and even requested that I get a single cell. I only experienced one full moon that left a treasure trove of sensations, which I don’t discuss. My few friends who did return, and my court-ordered therapist, tease me about my overactive imagination.
Only I will ever know where the bones are buried.