Ch. 6: She seemed a little ... dirty, as in unbathed.

She seemed a little ... dirty, as in unbathed. Her hair hung in her face, and her clothes appeared to be tugged and torn against her athletic body. This was the type of woman who, well, let's say you introduced her to your mom. Your mom would lead you by the hand out to the car and drive you far away. But my mom wasn't around. And I intended to investigate this beauty and this beast. My name is @katieblair, she said, leering at me under her hair. I design stationery. "Of course," I thought. "That explains EVERYTHING."

Ch. 4: It wasn't the first time I ever saw a gorgeous woman drool in public.

It wasn't the first time I ever saw a gorgeous woman drool in public. But it was, perhaps, the first time that shoes were not involved. Her eyes glowed. She breathed through her mouth -- almost panting. Her dark hair hung wildly across her face. "You're mine," she growled. "I've been hunting you." I shuddered. "Buy ya a drink?" I whined. "Let's maybe not go with the Red Bull." "We leave now." she snarled. And something inside me, behind the coward and the nice guy and the sensible guy went, "We're getting laid!"

Ch. 3: Who was she, with the intense eyes and pouncing gait?

The Gratitude Cafe was filled with the usual bright-eyed idealists. Look, I'm all for that vegan, brown-rice-on-a-Frisbee-platter karma. I live in Chicago. A little warm, fuzzy is all right by me. But you wouldn't have to look very deeply into my soul to see I was hoping for a little female companionship. And suddenly, there was a beauty with the soul of a beast nearly pouncing on me. She was circling around the ferny room and looking at me the way I've always dreamt of being eyed. And while it was certainly exciting, there was something ... predatory about her.

Chapter 2: Maybe it's the armpit hair

Maybe it was the joys of armpit hair: For some reason, I was curiously drawn to hippie chicks. And so it was that I found myself at the bar of the ferny Gratitude Cafe, ordering the red curry tofu, and checking my prospects. I'd been in San Francisco for more than a week, and the renowned promiscuity of the Bay Area had yet to smile on me, personally. (It had, to be honest, been a while.) I'm Patrick Ripoll. Call me a dabbling Web guy. I'm based in Chicago, and I was on a one-month business visit to San Francisco. Little did I know that night in the Mission District's Gratitude Cafe, that I was about to meet the ultimate nature girl.

Chapter 1: A Female Without A Mate

I am a female without a mate.
At night, I prowl through the shadows, looking in on the warm lights of civilization. I am alone in the silence, but I see all. I can smell where you've been.
I have left my pack, and come to this city, San Francisco, to search for him. I know he is here.
Long ago we lived in the Black Forest, the dark, thick trees of Germany, with the lovely snow and covering wilderness. At night we hunted and ran silently. We smelled the deer. Man was seldom there. My mate and I were one. But my mate was killed. He was killed by a man in the forest to cut trees. I followed the man, seeking vengeance, or explanation. Something ... I can't remember. And somehow, over the centuries, I have become this woman. And the woodsman, the man who killed my mate, is here, in San Francisco. Or is it an ancestor? Or is it my mate, transformed into a man? I must find him. And when I do, I will know. When I find him, I can finally rest.