Carl Murphy doesn't know where he is, what's happening to him, or why he feels the way he does. His house doesn't exist - apparently it's always been a donut shop, and he feels like his world is unraveling. The Road Crew doesn't exist, and apparently none of his friends do either. His old job working for the city has no record of him, and if he makes a fuss about anything, he knows it's off to the psych ward.

And it all started when he looked up at where the new moon glimmered darkly in the vastness of the stars just before dusk, and then woke up at dawn in a cemetery munching on a blouse full of bloodstains with a copper taste in his mouth. Strangers found him, and strangely cared for him. They opened their home, fed him, clothed him and took him to a strange sort of church called a Communion. That place told him he was a werewolf. A goddamned Werewolf!

Now after a few months, he's starting to believe it. His emotions are wild, he's seeing things, hearing and smelling too much, and he's just lost. Two days ago some cute girls his age dragged him back to a Communion where he was told he had been Drafted into something called a Pack! At least the girls were part of it. If only he knew how to talk to girls!

Now that He's a Werewolf alcohol does ... nothing ,of course so now he smokes. That isn't about the buzz or getting drunk (Which isn't possible now) this is about the taste ,and he's been going out to get them and to know people a lot ,it won't kill him so what's the problem with three to ... five a day.