this is even dumber

Spritz. Spritz. Squeeeeak.

A middle-aged woman, face ragged from years of thankless work and cigarettes, dutifully sprayed the windows of the Rock n' Roll Diner down with Windex before wiping away with her chamois, revealing the streak-free shimmer of the streetlights outside. Not many people came to the old place this time of night, so there was time to smoke, and there was time to clean. But this time, as the blur of the evaporating cleaner faded away, she uncovered a sight she perhaps hadn't seen in years.

Men of that type never came around this side of town. Square-shouldered, standing just as tall and proud as the business district buildings he must've come from. His suit was as dark blue as the night sky, a flash of blood red from his tie streaking vertically up  his chest. This man would have better been suited chasing down financial prey in the stock market, not frequenting some run-down old shithole like this.

Still, she sighed through battered lungs and wandered to the back, trading her cleaning equipment for a pad of paper and a pen tucked behind her ear.

The door jingled as he stepped inside, . For most high-powered executives like himself, a place like this wouldn't even be given a second glance. But this sleazy underbelly satisfied a much more primal part of his being. One that demanded sustenance.

Not for coffee. Not even for their homemade lemon meringue pie. But for fresh human blood.

Being one of the few refuges for human beings stuck in the night streets of the city, he could sit poised here like a spider in a web. Follow them into the restroom, take what he needs, and then slip out, unnoticed. Circumstances required him to lay low from his usual haunts, after last time he had gone into the hunt a touch too hungry, making a scene as he abandoned a young woman half-dead and slumped over a toilet.

But there was no need to dwell on that now. He would sit and stare, single-minded, at the door, out the window, waiting. Vampires were very patient beings, you see. What was the difference between an hour, or a week, or a year? He could wait forever.

Or he would, if a gravelly voice didn't break the silence.

"Welcome to the Rock n' Roll Diner, home of the city-famous lemon meringue pie. What can I getcha." she said, not even attempting to feign enthusiasm.

Still, he jolted, smiling up at her with just a few too many teeth. She didn't even seem to acknowledge the fact that fangs protruded past his lips.

"Ah... I'm fine, thank you dear." he said, hiding the tension in his voice through prim and proper tone.

"Not even a coffee or nothin'?" the woman squinted at him. Whether or not she really was suspicious, it was a chance he couldn't afford to take.

"...Alright. I'll have some coffee."

"Alright then." She didn't even bother writing it down, meandering to the back and coming out a second later with the pot. He helpfully flipped the mug and she filled it before wandering off again, off to her seventh smoke break of the evening.

Before long the steam disappeared from the top of his coffee. Occasionally he would lift it to his lips, feigning the act of drinking, but his facade broke when she came over to try to give him a refill.

"...Really?" she said incredulously. "How long you been sippin' at that?"

"Oh! I'm just... thinking, is all. I drink coffee slowly. There is no need to be concerned." Another too-wide smile, and he took a deep breath for emphasis. Completely normal human things.

"Eh... Whatever floats yer boat, I guess." the woman frowned. Perhaps she would never understand the wealthy.

The door jingled again and the vampire perked up. It looked as if dinner had finally arrived in the form of a strapping young man. Probably up to no good, but morality didn't make a bit of difference in the taste of blood.

He smirked to himself, making sure the woman was out of sight, and slipped up from his chair. They really did have just what he needed at the Rock n' Roll Diner.