Werewolves of Wilmington

If you once thought that number 2 pencils were designed for rewinding cassette tapes, then The Circular Journey is the place for you. Welcome back.

Wilmington is a perfectly civilized place and a top destination for Set Jetters. But every now and then, the moon rises over the Cape Fear, the vape clouds gather, and somewhere in the distance an engine revs in a convenience-store parking lot.

That’s when you know: 

The werewolves of Wilmington are out again.

 

A Study in Urban Feralism 

I first spotted the phenomenon in the Cargo District. It was raining, and the vibe was moody indie music. 

He walked through the rain clutching a coffee menu, asking for directions to Egret Caffè, desperate for twenty ounces of lavender-and-sweet-cream frappé.

Oh no! I thought. The werewolves of Wilmington!

The Habitat and Territory 

These creatures aren’t confined to our trendiest blocks. They’re adaptive, migrating with the shifting supplies of Monster Energy and Red Bull. 

He’s the tattooed gent in Walmart with the patchy neck beard. Get near him, and he’ll start explaining something. And beside him, always, "she" is there, smiling at the person he’s just inconvenienced, touching their arm and saying, “Sorry, he’s just…” and then never quite finishing the sentence.

And now I pause from the regularly scheduled post for this homage and sincere apology to Warren Zevon, and that magical musical number, The Werewolves of London.

I saw a werewolf with a laminated menu in his hand, 

Walking through the Cargo District in the rain. 

He walked like a man in a fevered dream, 

Drinking a large lavender frappé with double whipped cream. 

Werewolves of Wilmington. 

If you hear him mansplaining at the cafe counter, 

It’s best just to simply ignore him. 

He made a young barista cry late last night. 

Espresso machine was being cleaned. 

Werewolves of Wilmington. 

He's the neck-bearded gent who runs amok in Walmart 

Lately, he's been overheard in Mayfair 

Best to stay far away from him 

He'll wear you patience out, Jim 

I'd like to meet his tattoo artist. 

Werewolves of Wilmington. 

I saw Scot Speedman walking the Riverwalk with his dog, 

Doing the werewolves of Wilmington. 

I saw Joe Rogan drinking a Red Bull at Trader Joe’s 

His camo shorts were perfect.

Werewolves of Wilmington again! 

Sightings in the Wild

Over the years, I’ve compiled a field guide to help identify the species: 

• Parking sideways in grocery aisles 
• Wearing cargo shorts and flip-flops in the rain 
• Revving truck engines on neighborhood roads, as if announcing the arrival of royalty 
• Producing vape clouds large enough to obscure coastal landmarks
• Referring to a caramel lavender frappé as “not that sweet, actually.”
• Explaining craft beer to people who are only passing by 

Should you observe three or more of these behaviors in the same individual, the diagnosis is generally considered confirmed. 

So, if you’re out tonight and a grunt-laugh echoes near the sports drink aisle, do yourself a favor: look down and keep walking.

Author's Note:

The Werewolf of Wilmington means no cosmic harm. He’s a creature of this particular latitude—salt air and surf shops, craft beer and parking lot grievances. He is, under certain circumstances, all of us on our worst Tuesday. 

Still: be kind to your baristas. Let the checkout lane move forward. And observe the natural order of things: the espresso machine sleeps when it sleeps.