Wendell clicked the publish button on his newest chapter. He was so nervous that he was sweating through his polyester tuxedo t-shirt. He finally felt as if he could breathe again. He turned to the wrinkly faced old man sitting next to him.

"Thanks Bruce for all your help with the fight scene, you are so talented you really brought it to life!" Wendell's appreciation was genuine, he knew this task would be insurmountable without the help of his colleagues here at Wattpad. "Let me treat you to lunch tomorrow as a token of appreciation."

The old man's raspy voice was oozed of joviality, "no need kid, it was my pleasure to help. Kind of a dick move for Kurt to quit on you like that. Cthulhu porn? He has lost his fucking mind if you ask me. Anyways I'm good for writing about combat, but any of that touchy feely crap is beyond me. Good luck with the book Wendell. Try the Chick Lit department " The old man rose and patted the rotund man on the back before exiting.

Wendell picked up the phone and dialled Simone's extension again... still no answer. Oh well maybe she is too busy to answer, better just walk over there himself.Wendell trundled down the hallway towards the Woman's Literature Department. First he had to pass the Werewolf's den. His eyes began to water uncontrollably on account of his terrible allergies. Unable to see correctly Wendell collided with a much smaller body knocking them to the ground.

In response Wendell was met by a menacing growl, "hey fatty watch where you're going!"

 After Wendell wiped his eyes to clear his vision the details of the speaker came into view. It was a skinny, short man in his 50s with the whitest, shortest curly hair Wendell has ever seen. He was smoking a cigar almost as big as his head.

"Sorry sir I was just heading to the Women's Literature department to meet someone." Wendell explained apologetically.

"You got no shot with any of those wackos, they all hate men!" The little man said gruffly.

"Don't they all write romantic stories? I need help with my story." Wendell was genuinely puzzled.

The pair finally made it to the Woman's Lit Department and opened the door. It was completely vacated all that remained was the ghostly essence of clove cigarettes and Ben-gay.

"Precisely, in their stories they create the perfect man, real schmucks like us can never compare to their delusional fantasies." It was spoken with such conviction Wendell found himself agreeing.

"Where is everyone? "

https://youtu.be/1y_ebmBIvUM

"My guess they all went to The Beaches concert."

"Beaches? Who is that?"

"An all chick group, always singing about women's problems"

"I see, I guess I'll just leave her a note then"

It was then that an intoxicating smell wafted down the hallway. Wendell inhaled deeply, sighing. The knew that smell anywhere, Baccarat Rouge...Angela. He turned to see his Sicilian angel arm an arm with Vincenzo. Her face full of disdain and self importance.

Wendell just gaped at her longingly, "life is so unfair she could never love a guy like me."

"Stop your bellyaching, you think you got it rough, look at me. Imagine working in the werewolf department looking like this!"

Wendell turn and had to look down, WAY DOWN, looking up at him with the mammoth cigar still dangly from his muzzle was the daintiest white poodle.

"Holy shit! You're a were-poodle!!! Look at you, you are so adorable! Miss Catniss Everclean would love you to death!!"

The poodle began to growl menacingly, "I fucking hate cats! But I want to help you get your girl so I'll help you write your story"

Wendell knelt and gave the dog some scrunchies, "good boy!" Involuntarily the dog's tail wagged furiously.