How to Run with a Naked Werewolf
1 All the Pretty Pintos
If Gordie Fugate didn’t hurry the hell up and pick out a cereal, I was going to bludgeon him with a canned ham.
I didn’t mind working at Emerson’s Dry Goods, but I was wrapping up a sixteen-hour shift. My back ached. My stiff green canvas apron was chafing my neck. And one of the Glisson twins had dropped a gallon jar of mayo on my big toe earlier. I hadn’t been this exhausted since doing an emergency rotation during my medical...