The wolf was lucky enough to find himself alone on a certain beach early this (Sunday) morning.
Two hours of heaven before the arrival of anyone else, listening to the timeless roar and hiss of the waves; alone, but with a precious memory or two, leavening the solitude with a smile.
Climbing the narrow path up the cliff after having exposed his epidermis to enough radiation damage to make the wearing of white speedos almost inevitable this season, the wolf found himself walking behind a mother and her very young son, deep in conversation. His ears swivelled towards them...
"Mum, do you know what people taste like?"
"No I don't"
"I do"
"Well I don't want to know how you know. And anyway, eating people is wrong"
Well, the wolf can think of circumstances where it is ok (in a metaphoric sense), but yes, not until everyone involved is above the age of consent. What intrigued the wolf about this particular conversation however was that the boy was (obviously) not being metaphorical, and even more intriguing, his eyebrows did not meet in the middle.
Hmmm, maybe there are more werewolves out there than he had realised...
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