A lithe little cat-girl with fur of the tabby kind appeared at my feet, rubbing up against my legs and purring. She wore the same outfit as the wannab... had worn, except that there was now a hole in the backside for her tail, and she had a collar with her name tag on it, which read "Tiffany." The other girls looked at us in horror. The leader grabbed the bottle from my belt, ripping the loop as they did so. I moved to stop them, but the group began to rub the bottle in unison, trying to take. He hated waiting, he was so impatient. Beth had teased him previously, stating he had “Less patience than Dr. Harold Shipman,” the infamous British serial killer. Allan had ignored her black humour as best he could, but her words echoed in his mind again as he paced, and the memory of her tainted comparison gave him a creepy feeling. At the moment, he just hoped the agonising wait to see Beth jazzed up for their wild night out was worth it. ’Silly bugger.’ he said to himself. ‘Of course it. More

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