The movie was a raging tangle of relationships, specifically the relationship between machetes and pliant flesh. Saxon Crisp dug his hand into the yellow and burnt umber colored tub of popcorn. The giant cola had cost him four dollars and the corn five. Crisp mumbled something unintelligible and bits of popcorn tumbled from his lips. A dark stain of cold moisture from the icy cola stained his wranglers with the secret moviegoers stigma. Saxon watched as the masked maniac cut and slashed his way through several screaming teens. "Yaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhaaaaaaa," he said through bits of corn. The nocturnal spirit sang and Crisp pounded the arm of the plastic and metal seat. "AAAArrrrrrrrrggggghhhhaaaaqa." Darkness filled his eyes for a moment as scarlet rivers flew in cascades of beaded mist in giant projected offerings of wild abandon. "OOOhhhhhhaaaaahhhhhaaaaa," he sighed as the cola spilled to the floor in a sugary ice cube spray. "OOOhhhhhaaaaahhhhhaaaaa," he moaned. His arms flailed and a shower of popcorn flew in all directions. "AAAArrrrrraaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhaaaaa," he screamed as he stood and striped off his shirt. Crisp screamed at the top of his lungs and dug tiny ten fingered trenches into his chest. Unbound, he ran to the front of the theater screaming and whooping like a man in the shadow of an urge, an urge to ignore the withering wills of stoic reproach, calm reserve and jaded poise. "AAAArrrraaaaaggggghhhhhaaaaa," he screamed as the wolf took hold, dreaming him to sylvan express and wild extreme. Saxon padded up the aisle and into the maw of human breed as the theater resounded with screams of terror and shock borne of decreed fangs and fear. Saxon Crisp seized the moment and howled in silhouette to the applause of evening-tide shadows and the wan face of a dappled moon.