Even as you've looked for a job, you've kept your eyes open for places to sleep. No one you've spoken to has offered you a place to crash for the night, and you still haven't found any other werewolves.
So it's time for a shelter.
You've been in scarier towns than this one, but you also know how fast shelters fill up when it's cold, and you know that sometimes the staff can be worse than the residents. You adopt a suitably humble and deferential posture, but not one so listless that you look like you're nodding or tranquilized, and approach the interfaith cot shelter you saw earlier today. It's located in a building that looks like a Greek temple, currently wrapped in orange construction netting. Downstairs, past a half-disassembled stair lift for wheelchairs, a woman sits on her phone behind a desk. She tells you to be quiet when you ask her if this is the shelter.
Finally the woman finishes whatever she's doing and says, "This is the overflow shelter," pronouncing each syllable in "overflow" like you've never heard of the concept before. "You need to go to the main shelter on Aldrich and check there first."
"Where's that?" you ask. There's a plastic holder for brochures on the desk, and another bolted to the wall, but they're both empty.
"Oh my God." She pulls up Google Maps on her phone. "Al-drich." You barely get to look at the street before she yanks her phone back and sends you on your way.
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