You start by hitting two computer repair places. One isn't hiring; you strike up a good conversation with the tech at the other place, but she wants more details and references than you can provide. You keep that place in mind, wondering if you can cook up some fake references, then try the local garages. Unsurprisingly, they want long, brutal hours, and you're not here to work—you're here in your professional capacity as a werewolf. You doubt they'd understand, so garages are out.
You're staring at a retro electronics store, wondering what an Atari is and how it is used, when the store's big window reflects a bike with fat tires pushing through the snow. Curious, you follow the cyclist to a small house you mistook for a psychic's because of the neon hand glowing in the window. The cramped interior is full of bikes and bike parts, and decorated with astrological paraphernalia. It takes you a while to find the store's name: Epicycle Bikes.
"Hey dude," the owner says.
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