Stíofán ó Faoláin
It was the last night before the full moon, and Stephen walked down the stairs of the block of flats that all of the werewolves lived in, and strolled down the road. It was beginning to get dark, and soon there would be a slight chill in the air. This is normal for Greyville, however, and Stephen liked this. It reminded him of home, back in Ireland. He continued down the road until he got to the pub, the last one in Greyville in fact, The Backhouse. All of the werewolves liked to go here on the last night before the full moon. They wouldn't be able to have much to drink tomorrow night, so they drank tonight to make up for it.
Stephen walked into the pub, and looked around. He was the first of the werewolves there, as per usual. The rest of them had family to say goodbye to, or some work to do, or something like that. Stephen didn't have any of this. He didn't have a wife or children to say goodbye to, and legally, he wasn't a US citizen, so he couldn't get a job. He didn't want to risk applying for a work visa and being deported because he was here illegally. There was no police station in Greyville, and the police who were supposed to patrol the town rarely came, anyway.
Stephen found a relatively dark area of the pub, he didn't really feel like speaking to anyone, and sat down. He'd wait for a few more werewolves to come in before he ordered a drink, and perhaps he'd get drunk enough to feel like striking up a conversation with someone.