The greasy café window is ready for the show A hundred different stories drifting by Keep your eyes on the shadows lurking on the pavement Cause no-one has any faith in the sky They’re all actors on the stage Nothing appears, as it would seem I like my coffee black, no sugar I like my coffee black, no cream There’s too much make-up on the waitress So many places she’d rather be She’s a masterpiece of abject sorrow Her demons will never set her free She moves around tables taking orders She moves around a broken dream I’ll take my coffee black, no sugar I’ll take my coffee black, no cream She won’t listen to the wisdom of the young She really doesn’t care what those boys think There’s a secret buried behind her eyes Runs darker and deeper than her ink Just more soul food for the demons of this underworld Veiled behind a curtain of rising steam She pours my coffee black, no sugar She pours my coffee black, no cream I like my coffee black, no sugar I like my coffee black, no cream ‘Hello, My Name is John and I'm an Alcoholic Werewolf’ by Carole Kelly, narrated by Bryan Cutts. Even as the sun began to colour the morning sky over Mort Bay, John could still feel the insistent pull of the moon as she slipped gracefully behind tattered coral clouds. Tonight was a full moon, and John's morning run was fuelled by anticipation, along with the usual dread of discovery. Living a secret life as a werewolf, in urban hipster Balmain, meant a life of endless frustration and fear. Returning home to his converted worker's cottage, it didn't take long for John to shower and prepare his usual high protein breakfast. He'd found, through embarrassing experience, that his wolfish urges were better controlled if his diet was heavy on proteins and carbs. It was then a short walk to his boutique veterinary practice on Darling St. His partner Tanya was already preparing for today's surgeries and greeted him with her usual grunt. She specialised in caring for the exotic range of cats, rabbits and even ferrets, kept by the trend conscious local pet owners. John was the 'dog guy'. Even the most vicious canines from small cockapoodles to rottweilers, became submissive and quiet under his hands. Grateful owners meant his practice was very successful and it would appear to most people, if they cared to think about it, that John should be a contented man. Today he had planned his appointments to finish early, because he wanted to catch an AA meeting before the evening. Sober for 10 months and 16 days, John intended to maintain that sobriety, despite his life of quiet despair. His hope that Temple would also be there, was an extra inducement. He'd met Temple only two months ago, at a meeting, when he'd been very close to walking out and finding short term comfort in a bottle. Listening to the same pathetic excuses for their alcoholism had simply increased his desire to stand up and shout "Hello, my name is John and I'm an alcoholic werewolf! Your sad stories of life's traumas that cause you to fall off the wagon, don't compare to mine. Try living in a city where you can never run freely, never allow your needs to be fulfilled or have a meaningful relationship because part of your nature has to remain a secret. Then tell me that your life is hard." Of course he'd never do that, and he did mostly empathise with the haunted men and women who attended the meetings. The night he first met Temple, it had been a difficult day at work, culminating in the death of an elderly pug who'd made the unfortunate decisions to sniff at John, as he leaned over him to listen to his wheezy chest. The pug's eyes had bulged in horror and then, his heart had simply stopped. Explaining that to a distraught owner had been embarrassing and John had left for his meeting with an aching head and a raging thirst. Temple arrived late to the meeting, and didn't share, but he stayed for the usual mugs of weak tea and coffee. Their hands met over the last sachet of sugar and their relationship progressed quickly, to the point that Temple was now suggesting that they move in together. Not being able to explain why he couldn't live permanently with anyone, meant that John was in danger of losing yet another potential partner to his secret affliction. As John passed through the haze of smoke from dedicated addicts clustered outside the old church used for the AA meetings, he was hoping to see Temple. His lover was an African American, six foot tall with enviable biceps, who was way out of his league. John knew that if he continued to procrastinate, then he'd soon find another interest and already he could taste the familiar bitterness of regret and resentment. Temple was lounging decoratively against the shabby wall of the meeting room and chatting to Newtown Annie, who definitely had the hots for him. John, aware that Temple's sexual preferences were extremely fluid, hastened to interrupt and steer him towards the uncomfortable plastic chairs, but Temple was in a flirtatious mood and refused to move. This close to the full moon, John's tolerance levels were low, and he left in a huff to return home alone and prepare for the coming night. The call of the moon was becoming even more insistent as dusk fell and he knew that tonight was going to be a difficult one. By the time the moon was climbing to her zenith, John was locked in agony as his body changed to his alter ego. His receding hairline was replaced with wiry silver grey hair, and stripped naked, his hairy body was lithe and powerful. Only his pale blue eyes remained constant in this other self. The back door was already open and John padded into his small garden before easily leaping over the fence and running silently down the suburban streets. His cottage was far enough away from busy Darling St and latte drinking locals, to allow him to safely navigate a route to a nearby park where he could hide until later in the evening. Anyone who noticed him would have assumed he was a large dog, probably some sort of husky cross-breed, and would have considered a complaint to the council about unrestrained dogs. Fortunately, in his thirty-five years of living in Balmain, John had never been accosted in his wolf form. As darkness fell, lit only by the moon's caressing touch, John began his usual moon-change journey. Lurking in the shadows wherever possible, he ran along the shoreline, through the parks and back around the suburban streets. Desperately seeking relief from the pain of his unfulfilled urges, he snapped at suspicious cats on fences and small dogs locked safely behind gates. Occasionally he'd stop to howl in anguish at the indifferent moon, before continuing to run until exhaustion forced him to rest. Lying under a tree he waited until dawn's false light before returning quietly home to collapse on his bed. When he woke several hours later he had changed back to John, the mild-mannered veterinarian, with nothing to show for his evening but sore feet and an urgent desire to shower. Since his first change, John had never harmed any person or animal during his periods of moon-madness. Although unable to stop his body from changing, he'd been determined to never give in to the wolf's base demands, despite the anguish and frustration it caused him. Living in an urban environment meant his opportunities to even run with the moon, as his wolf demanded, were severely limited and occasionally he dreamed of moving to a rural area where he could be free. At the same time, he realised that living in such an environment would also allow more opportunities for his wolf to become the predator he desired. It was a conundrum that he could never resolve. The day after the full moon John was always tired and short tempered. His partner Tanya had learnt to recognise the moods and teased him about 'his time of the month', without realising the truth in her words. Tonight he had a date with Temple and he was wearily hoping that his lover wouldn't again bring up the possibility of them living together. Last evening had only reconfirmed how impossible that would be. Over the next few weeks, Temple became increasingly annoyed that John was unable to give him a reason not to take their relationship further. Protestations of love were no longer enough, and he issued an ultimatum. Either John agreed to trial their joint living arrangements, or to give him a genuine explanation as to why not. Already, this month had promised to be particularly taxing for John. A rare Blue Moon was about to take place tomorrow night and this meant that he would have to go through a second change in a month, which would be more traumatic than the first. During a previous Blue Moon, John had nearly lost control, enough to consider taking one of the stray cats that scavenged around the wharf and he was terrified that, once blooded, his wolf would demand a kill every change. On the night of the Blue Moon John returned home early. Already angry from yet another terse phone call from Temple who'd made plans for them that evening, John could feel the change imminent as he paced restlessly around his small cottage. The moon had barely peered over the horizon, before John fell in agony to the floor as the change ripped through his unwilling body. Shaking off the tattered shreds of his old track pants, John's wolfish self stretched and yawned, displaying a sharp set of teeth, before slipping outside and heading towards the bay. Restlessly he ran through the streets without his usual caution, growling at a couple who tried to call to him, and snapping at an annoying small dog who dared to challenge him as he passed. Mixed up with the wolf's instinctive urges was the unrequited fury and frustration of a man. As it grew darker, he became obsessed with the idea of checking in on Temple, and without stopping to consider the implications, John stealthily made his way towards his lover's home. Temple lived only a few minutes from the wharf in a quiet tree lined street. A tangled front garden provided a hidden place for the wolf as he tried to look in through the curtained window. At first he couldn't see anything, then after a few minutes a hand drew back the drapes to allow the moonlight to enter. As John watched, Temple turned from the window and lovingly kissed a shadowy figure standing further into the room. Unable to control himself, John growled ominously and his silver grey hair began to stand erect. Pacing back and forth in the tiny garden, John the veterinarian was soon overruled by John the werewolf. After a few minutes the door opened and both Temple and his visitor stepped outside, on their way out for dinner. John's senses now were all wolf as he smelt the stranger's scent all over his lover. Mindlessly he leapt for the man's throat and tore it open. Before Temple had a chance to scream, his throat was also ripped and both men were sprawled lifelessly on the ground. Shamelessly, John lapped at his lover's blood as he stood possessively over his limp body. It was only after the sound of approaching footsteps, that he regained enough self awareness to leave the scene and run swiftly back towards his home. Distantly he could hear the sounds of screams and sirens, but disregarded them in his mindless panic to find sanctuary. Once safely arrived home, he curled up on the floor and began to shake. His muzzle still dripping with blood, John began to vomit uncontrollably, before thankfully losing consciousness. It was barely dawn when John reopened his eyes as a man. His naked body was cold and blood stained and something foul had coated his mouth. Slowly he staggered to his feet, aware that he may receive official visitors and it was imperative that he was in control. As he stood gratefully under a scalding shower, John acknowledged that there was no return from his actions last night. The wolf had tasted blood and in future, the Balmain werewolf was going to be embracing a very different lifestyle.