I. Werewolves and Salarymen

October, 2023

✦ .

Here, it smells of vodka, vomit, and vape hits.

FE!N shakes the space. Ears pop. Red faces. Loud mouths. Acidic breath. Oversized T-shirts. Undersized GPAs. Big egos. Small genitalia.

“Dude, are you drunk already?!” the boy in the ΣΧ shirt yells over the music. “Jesus, you’re such a lightweight. You STEM kids are all the same.”

“It’s just Asian flush, bro,” he says, pulling the fake Temu chain around his dampened Barbenheimer shirt. “Ancient curse passed down by my ancestors.”

“Ahaha, you’re so fuckin’ Asian!” another guy in a Kanye shirt laughs, hitting his Geek Bar.

On the dance floor the engineers, doctors, pilots, and psychologists of the next generation grind against each other in a mindless, youthful trance. A meaningless ritual. One they’d remember.

A girl squeezes past in a Wednesday Addams costume, though her skirt is entirely see-through. A guy’s in a suit and tie, two White Claws in either hand: “I’m a Japanese Salaryman!” he yells in a bad imitation accent, downing the cans in seconds, then falling to the floor as if passed out. Laughter follows. Insta stories are updated.

He enjoyed the masks. Each felt familiar, each mirrored his own. 

“I’ll take a rum and coke,” he says to the bunny-costumed bartender. “Double shot.”

Across the floor, past the identical devil and angel costumes snorting up the remnants of some unidentifiable substance, and the pool tables being used as stage platforms, a group of girls dance under the nauseating blue and purple LEDs.

He spots a girl in a werewolf costume, cheap faux fur, little plastic fangs, amber contact lenses. Cute. He liked werewolves.

“I think that’s Lihn’s group,” guy in the Kanye shirt says. “You wanna go?”

“Up to you guys,” he shrugs. “I’m fine wherever.”

“Go talk to her!”

“I can’t. Look at me. I stink. I haven’t showered all day. Loss of face.”


“What’s that mean?”

“Never mind...”

“Alright, c'mon," guy in the ΣΧ shirt cuts in. “Let’s dance.”

The girls dance a little harder as they shuffle close, arms above their head, sweat hitting the sticky ground below. He finds himself dancing next to werewolf girl, her hair brushing past his face as she twirls. Her cheeks were as flush as his. When she smiled, the little fangs would show.

“Hey,” he finally asks, “What’s your major?”

“UX” she replies after another spin. “You?”

“ECE,” he says. “So basically, we have no social life. I cry daily.”

“Do you engineers have any other joke?”


“Not really.”

"You're awkward," she says, flatly. "What's your name again?"

"Huh? Oh. My name is—"

“Hey, you wanna come with us?” she interrupts, “Just a block from here. Afterparty. We have Titos and Papa Johns. You can bring your friends.”

He turns. His friends have drunkenly wandered off. The LEDs shift from purple to red, then back again. Her eyes gleam in the shifting lights. 

“Yeah, sure, why not.”