Groggy was a perfect word for how waking up left me. My head was full of cotton and vision unsteady. Reality showed no desire to focus. I felt hungover.

A desk was on my left. On it sat an alarm clock beeping out pure irritation. I hated the noise. Sharp piercing cries for attention that crawled into every inch of my skin. Even a good hard slap barely muted my displeasure. Today was probably a Monday.

My fingers brushed against high-grade cotton, relishing the sensation of fabric just a moment before my brain completed startup. I had a new job today. Wait, no. I'd been there a week already. That's right. How could I have forgotten something so simple? It wasn't every day I snagged a job that paid decently. Especially not in a new town where everyone was barely more than a stranger.

"Wake your lazy buns up!" A voice shouted.

I dug out a shirt from my bag and put it on. My short hair was bent at odd angles but it'd be serviceable enough for morning interactions. Faint tingles shot up my legs as toes ran over across carpet.

Sunlight had barely started coming through the windows. It was there, peeking over the horizon. Even though my mind was capable of functioning this early I hated mornings. Too bad I didn't drink coffee. It might help with the headache riding my skull like a cowboy on a bucking bronco.

How long had I been boarding in this house? Today? A week? It was a place that felt familiar and foreign at the same time. Like I just arrived yesterday and already felt comfortable with these surroundings.

That slightly familiar voice shouted down the hallway again. I tried to piece together the recent past and slowly details filled in. We met two weeks ago during my first night in town. The stout woman was willing to let me borrow a bedroom without a background check.

Imagine that, a man like me boarding on with a woman. Most females refused to acknowledge me. Even if I was rather good looking, or at least kept in decent shape.

I passed by the second bathroom, handled cold water to the face with minimal shock, and took a quick rinse with the mouthwash.

"Going out for a jog!" I said while passing through.

"Alright! Breakfast will be..." Her words were lost beneath the door slam and feet cruising down creaky stairs.

Today's extremely reachable goal was ten miles before seven AM. Ten miles was enough to cover most of the main strip. The ground was damp from last night's rain. Nothing major, just a sprinkle. I made it a mile before hitting the center of town.

Jogging was a routine. Whenever landing in a new town there were a few good ways to learn the roads. Getting the layout of an area helped the place feel familiar. Along with that was the simple pleasure of air curling around my body as I traveled. Windier days were even better.

If things went right my run would be completed before full dawn. Early morning exercise meant fewer people to interact with. Though most gave me a wide berth, even in the shorts, even clearly exercising. Don't get me wrong. People waved and said hello. They just did it from a reasonable distance.

A vampire wouldn't have cared who I was. A wolf would have been ecstatic to see someone out for a run. This town was nearly all human from what I noticed so far.

This morning jog exercise had been going on for about a week. I think. The first two days were the worst, I'd gotten out of shape somehow during my travels. Too much of a belly. Some mornings I felt sick and shaky like I'd been fighting off the flu. Probably eating garbage and drinking too much. Not like my normal self at all.

"James! Going strong this morning. Good for you!" An older man said with garbled words.

The other figure couldn’t be made out this early in the morning. There was a rattle of chain that helped me remember the man traveled with a dog. I waved and kept running, trying not to huff. No matter how many times my route altered this guy seemed to pick the same path. Four times in two weeks of running was more than coincidence.

"Come on, Senior!" The old man clicked off the leash and they took off after me.

I kept my normal pace. If he wanted to talk we'd have to do it on the go.

"How's Rachel treating you?" The older man had managed to catch up. I looked over and caught a brief glimpse of his profile before swiveling my eyes back to the sidewalk. Not tall, kept in good shape himself. His movements were fluid, not at all stiff and sore like I normally expected from someone of his age. It wasn't bright enough for much more detail.

"Good," I said.

"Yeah? She's a sweetheart. Got you all set up?" The old man's canine ran ahead of us. Hell, it was larger than a dog, almost a damned wolf. That'd be weird, though, an old man walking a shifted wolf on a collar.

"Yeah." I had two bags full of stuff, just enough to carry with me from town to town. Getting set up was a matter of unzipping luggage.

"Fantastic," He said. That word annoyed me for some reason. "Hey, after you get done with work you should drop by the park."

"Okay." I didn't even argue. Being invited to do anything in a new town was always dicey. Normally it was best to keep my head down and blend in. Still, the old man didn't seem like the type to let me get away. "What time?"

" ’bout an hour before sunset.” His words were difficult to make out. He tried to be crisp in the wording but our pace made it hard. “Some of the town folks and I do exercises to keep in shape. Figured you might like to scope it out, being a fellow enthusiast."

I slowed down for a moment then outright stopped. This would ruin my ten-mile goal, but running while talking was unfair. The older man was keeping up while Senior, his dog, ran laps around us the entire time.

"I dunno how long I'll be around." I felt it was better to admit I was a drifter now. No hard feelings later that way.

The older man nodded then said, "That's fine, join us if you can. We'll be there, every evening."

"Thanks for the offer."

"Sure, if we don't keep fresh blood interested then our town would dry up!" He laughed at his own comment. I couldn't tell if it was a self-depreciating joke or friendly attitude. His words were hard to understand as well. Probably old age, or the uneven teeth in his mouth.

"I might not make it over tonight." I tried to politely back out of the event. Two weeks in a new town wasn’t long enough to get comfortable, no matter how many times I jogged these streets.

"Sure, you're still getting your bearings. Anyway, I've got to go before Senior gets worked up." The giant dog was still powering through the laps. "See you around, James!"

Huh. Well, I wasn't sure what to make of that. Guess he'd been scoping me out to see how interested I might be in his group. The action made sense but felt a bit sudden. It was easier to just go back to my jog. I really enjoyed the solid slap of my feet against broken concrete. Noise spilled across the neighborhood as I strode through.

Other than the old man this town was pretty dead before dawn. That was the nice thing about these small areas. Businesses started on different schedules. Weren't all corporate owned. Frequently stores said 'Sunup' or 'Noon' and were open until 'close' which was an arbitrary time. It was also the biggest city in the county which wasn't saying much. The bigger electronics stores and furniture locations were in the next town over, technically in another county.

There was only one bar, which truly measured how small the community was. I couldn't say it bothered me. Staying away from alcohol was one of my better ideas.

People around here walked to work. Only one bus came through and that was an hour long ride across the countryside before it connected back to the next city. Almost a token gesture from the state to keep people satisfied.

As I jogged it was easy to mark other differences from the big cities. Going through the residential areas showed lots of gardening, dogs everywhere. No fancy cars, often times they were beaters or old vehicles that were kept up by their owners.

My run finished with roughly eight miles completed. Not the goal I'd been going for, but there wasn't enough time to finish out the last leg and still make it back. I got into my rental and Rachel was standing near the kitchen counter. She stared down at a cold platter of food while the television prattled on in the background.

"James! I can't believe you. Wasting food. It's scandalous." She said while pointing with a wooden spoon.

"It's not wasted." I grabbed the gritty plate in one hand and smooth fork in the other. Before digging in I gave her a salute. "Thanks for the grub, Ma'am."

"Oh no you don't. I'm not some old biddy." She emphasized the word using the same tone every woman used when they felt old but didn't want to be reminded.

"Just being a gentleman."

"I doubt that."

"Hey! I'm perfectly..." I tried to defend my honor.

"Shush. I want to hear this part." Rachel flipped up the portable television's volume with a knob on the side of the screen. It wasn't new enough to have a remote control.

"That the strike?" I whispered.

"Yeah. The world's going to hell and those mutts are demanding more money."

"They work harder." My shoulder went up in a half felt shrug.

"Harder? Don't spout such nonsense.” She turned towards me and waved the spoon across the kitchen counter. “They're abominations, able to lift more, but they don't work harder. Next, someone will be telling me we should pay crane operators more just because they can move heavy objects."

I didn't want to point out that they did get paid more. Specialized training versus general grunt work. Being on the grunt end of most jobs gave me a rather understanding perspective.

"Or elves should get paid more as gardeners just because they can grow plants." Rachel continued.

"But they do." I pointed with the fork while chewing a mouthful of eggs. Rude, but I was hungry. Probably shouldn't be shoving my face like this after exercise.

"That's just nonsense."

"Nonsense." I happily echoed. My own feelings regarding wolves were indifferent. If they wanted more money they could argue for it. It wasn't like I could lift near as much as they could. Or vampires for that matter. One of them easily powered through what I could lift. Elves were easy enough to out bench, though.

I set the plate down and rummaged for some much-needed water. Chilled ice clinked around in the tray as I searched for a cup.

"Shush. We're missing it." Despite her feigned anger, Rachel still managed to get out a glass and set it down for me. I splashed liquid from a filtered container into it then drank away.

"Wage inconstancy has been a driving factor for this entire movement." The news reporter tactfully chose not to call it a strike. "Yet wolves already have an income that's twenty percent higher than your average human. Now you're demanding even more?"

"If a pack member-" The other person started with their response. No self-respecting wolf ever did anything without crediting the entire team. "-only lifted twenty percent more, then that would make sense. As it is your average pack member lifts forty to fifty percent more, works longer and needs fewer rest breaks."

"But they also work smaller shifts, have smaller crews, are you saying a group of ten working..." The television spouted numbers that became background noise. Rachel may care. I didn't.

"I'll be back." I left the food uneaten then dodged back to my room, grabbed clothes and showered. Self-cleansing after a run was glorious.

Rachel was glued to the television when I got done. I slid onto a stool and finished off my meal. The interview continued on with some Alpha that looked like a grizzled old war veteran.

"The world's going to hell." She muttered.

"Sure is." I agreed while crunching ice.

"First, one of the Tribunal members dies abruptly. Those fangers may be ponderous with everything else, but when it comes to politics they're like cobras." Rachel wandered around the kitchen. Her words were accurate, the Tribunal member had been dead for nearly six weeks now and already campaigning was going on for four different replacements.

"Now this strike from wolves. Not only the coastal unions, no, all across the country they're picketing." Rachel was unhappy with everything she saw on the television.

"Straight to hell." I said. Rachel turned around to see my grin. Hopefully it came off playful.

"You agree with them, mister?" She shook a grainy spatula at me. The woman always had a utensil in her hands and cooked constantly. It was by far the best perk of this house.

Her eyes demanded a real answer. I tried not to stare down my nose towards Rachel but it was difficult. She was a head shorter and somewhat plump. Her face could go from cheery to stern with a twist of the cheek.

"Work's a trade. Money for labor. Twice the labor should equal twice the money," I said. She opened her mouth to argue and I shook my empty glass at her. "regardless of species."

"Still, they keep bending the rest of us over the barrel with demands for more."

"Your cakes are better than any store bought cake, wouldn't you want more money for something you do well?" I asked.

She hummed and thought about my stance. Her cakes had been a conversation topic when we first met. From there it went on to other things. Turned out I knew more about barbecue than she did. Rachel respected food knowledge.

An oven alarm went off derailing the conversation.

"Work harder, or smarter, get more money. Basic economy." I pressed while she shuffled dishes around her kitchen. Sheets of food grated against the oven racks then went onto hot pads on the center isle. I restrained myself from grabbing at the divine smelling cookies she just finished.

My knuckles were still smarting from the last failed attempt at pilfering baked goods.

"Let's hope your Mister Henderson thinks that way. You go earn some money. Your shift starts soon." She pointed towards the door with a spatula.

"Ahh, hell. Yeah." I was going to be late if I didn't hustle.

"Lunch is at one!" The little woman shouted after me.

Our arrangement included meals with the rent. It left me with nearly no money but was worth every penny. A place to live where no one asked about my past, home cooked meals, and occasional conversation were more than enough. Rachel had even gotten me set up with this job.

I hustled downtown. Henderson's was a company which handled all sorts of manual labor. We did packing up and moving, delivering of televisions, couches or even evicting people. There were two drivers and four other packhorses like myself. Sometimes we drove out to the department stores and took their truck out to the deliveries.

It was a magical combination of contracting work and self-employment that seemed to pay under the table. I hadn't received a paycheck yet, but the owner had never asked me for a Sector ID, so he probably wasn't reporting my part time help. That was understandable. A new man to town might vanish in the wind one night. If an employee is only around for two months, putting him on the books was more work than was needed.

And this was a quiet family business, going back three generations. The grandfather had passed on years ago and left it to his son, Lance Kenneth Henderson the third.

Church bells a few blocks over were ringing out the hour as I walked in the front door. Lance didn't even bother waving at me. His hand instead pointed towards one of the other workers. He didn’t care much for conversation either.

"Come on." The tanned man said. He was human like nearly everyone in this town, ate a little too richly, and sat in a chair often. The man could help lift a couch so little else mattered.

I followed my coworker out to the van. Today was going to deliveries. My brain shut down as we traveled to Hyatt, the biggest city in this county. If anyone went shopping for more than groceries, Hyatt was their destination. Our little bedroom town was called Tennison. Their names barely meant anything. I passed through dozens of blips on the map like this over the years.

The only catch was that Hyatt was an hour's drive from Tennison. We only got paid for what we delivered, not by the hour. Henderson's drivers were paid because they knew when to speed and when to slow down. They probably drank with the sheriff's regularly and had all the speed traps memorized.

One of the drivers gabbed endlessly. He was with the other van or pulling an evening shift. The man I was with barely said two words a day that I'd seen. It made an annoying trip in a metal deathtrap even worse. Being confined to a vehicle grated on my nerves.

Work had barely started and time passed just like it always did. Dragging slowness mixed with silence that refused to advance more than half a second at a time.

Six hours and ten deliveries later we called it quits. We drove back to the main office and got out of the van. Henderson's main office was shut and the lights were off. The driver slid the van’s keys into a dropbox and wandered off, shoulders hunched, hands in his pocket. I wasn't sure what to think of him after a week working together.

There were more important factors to consider than my barely formed relationship with a part-time coworker. I missed lunch. Rachel probably made something for me. I ambled home.

The old man who invited me down to the park was on my path like always. I swear he did nothing but wander about looking for victims to prattle to. Now that there was light out I could see him better. He looked to be in his late sixties with a smile between grizzly and kind. His hair was trimmed short and top covered by a simple brown shirt. I had him pegged as a war veteran or long time military man. His stance screamed discipline. Scars from burns crept up his neck. Maybe he got a medical discharge.

That dog was an intense creature. Certainly not a younger pup but extremely well behaved. It had white fur and blue eyes. The build was near that of a wolf but that was impossible. Being walked around and wearing a collar would be demeaning. Not to mention the dog had a limp, and wolves healed pretty much anything.

"Evening, James!" His friendly voice rang out across the street. I'd avoided walking on the same side and it hadn't been any use.

"Don't forget my offer!" At least the old man didn't try to cross the street. I was hungry, tired, and in no mood to deal with people.

"Tomorrow! I'll check it out tomorrow!" I shouted across the street.

The old man didn't say anything right away, instead content to let us pass each other as we went opposite directions. A stir of barely audible words reached my ears. Almost felt them rather than heard. In the same way loudspeakers would thrum music into the ground, vibrating everything.

"I'll hold you to it." The words felt strong and firm.

I blinked then shook my head. What had that been? Me, feeling words? Silly nonsense. The old man's voice had been strong enough to be carried by even a faint wind. That and the near silence of these back streets must have allowed me to hear his words.

I stepped in the side door of Rachel's house. She was gone somewhere, probably gardening. It was edging into afternoon and Rachel had proven to have birdlike tendencies. Even a hint of sunrise and she was bright, cheery, and noisy. Come sunset the stout woman was out like a light. Vampires acted the same way, but in reverse.

Lunch was fantastic. The cookie I snuck in with my meal was even better. I needed to go out for a jog again later tonight to balance out Rachel's cooking. She fed me better than I ever fed myself. Maybe the old man's offer would help as well. He seemed to imply it was something that required physical activity. Not that Henderson's didn't require work, but it was in spurts. One hour of sitting in a cramped truck for ten minutes of movement was hardly real labor.

Rachel stormed into the kitchen. Her look was extremely old fashioned. A dirty garden apron, trowel in hand, and one small brown basket filled with carrots in the other. She set everything down on the counter and started washing off the fresh vegetables.

I watched and kept quiet.

"So, James, you never did say where you were coming in from." She said.

"Out east." I said vaguely.

"Nearby Manette?"

"Further east." My forehead wrinkled. Not being asked about my past for two weeks had been rather nice, but too good to last.

"Tulkin?" Rachel pried away.

"No. Just past Dales." It was on the other side of the sound. Nothing special, just a big city sprawled out across the land. It started out as a trade port, then a military base, and grew from there.

"That's a couple hundred miles away.” She said while bustling around the room. “What brought you out here?"

"I needed a change of pace."

Rachel paused and looked at me. Her lips pursed together and eyebrows lowered. She said, "I hope you're not in debt to anyone. Couldn't abide by that. You're nice enough but I'm not helping you for charity."

"I know." I nodded. At least Rachel made the conversation wind back to business. Her concern was for the rental money promised. That was understandable because money was important.

"There's no debts, just people-" One specific person. "-I couldn't be around anymore."

"A girl?"

"Yeah." I couldn't really remember anything about her. What she looked like or how tall the woman was, details were fuzzy. Only the faint scent of peppermint leaves stood out. This distance idea was working perfectly. Maybe in a few more months I'd be over her.

By then, if I was still here in Tennison, I could build an entirely new life. The people here were nice enough, and finding a place to live and a job in the same two weeks since I'd come to town was a godsend. Some towns were far less kind.

"Well, girls are always trouble.” She shrugged then finished taking off both gloves and started washing carrots. “Maybe you'll like it here in Tennison. The place suits me fine."

"Sure. A friend recommended heading out this way." I closed my eyes a bit longer than needed.

"A friend? No, never mind me, I'm being a busybody, you go do whatever it is boys do, supper will be ready in a few." Rachel said.

I waited for Rachel to move to another part of the kitchen. Once she was clear from the sink I scrubbed off the dish and put it away. Cheap plates rubbed against cheaper plastic on the drying rack.

What Rachel had asked was troubling. Not because she asked it, but because my own answers were vague. It bothered me that my former girlfriend's name wasn't coming to mind. Worse her face had somehow escaped my memory. There was a gap somewhere in past.

Then the part about a friend directing me out here was true. Coming here was the result of his suggestion. He said I would like these new digs and introduced me to Rachel I thought. What was his name? How long ago had that been? Questions kept coming and it felt like I was digging at the edge of the Gordian knot.

I remembered traveling from town to town to avoid a woman. Cold lonely nights filled with unceasing exhaustion. Everything in my past felt like an unimportant haze. This place was peaceful and relaxing enough that I could get away from myself for a while.

Laying down on the bed brought the same rush of feelings I had when waking. Grogginess, leaden head, and a deep fatigue lacing through every muscle. My fingers repeatedly grasped at the cotton sheets, relishing the sensation of being able to touch something. Then silence descended as my eyes shut.