
An American Werewolf in Sydney: Vic wakes from a night on the piss and attempts to make amends while figuring out what the hell happened.

“We should find a bar and become regulars.” Declared my companion, the aptly named Deliliah, as we hopped off our wheezing Fanta orange motor-bike just as a dust storm started gathering across the Mekong. Despite the exposed nature of the riverfront bar, which allowed the dust pellets swirling in from Thailand to start bruising our…