The sun is setting at long last. Roscoe moves the corner of his light proof enclosure just far enough to see the clock on the wall. Eight PM, it should be dark enough to venture out into the night to search for food.

It is much more difficult being a vampire in the twenty first century. There are so many rules to follow. Humans, of course, have been removed from the menu and personal pets are also taboo. Roscoe did try living in the forest for a while believing that it would be easier to find fresh blood. But it turns out that the wolves and cougars are far more proficient than he. He did get hungry enough to try to take on a wolf on his own not realizing that the wolf had his whole damn family there to help. Roscoe barely escaped with his fangs intact.

Climbing the stairway to the alley door he peeked out to verify that the sun had indeed gone down. There was that time when the power had gone out and it was actually noon. That was a close call. After that he got an analog alarm clock.

Not seeing anyone in the alley he quietly slips out into the rainy night. Now where should he go for breakfast? There is always the neighborhood blood bank but he thinks that they may be on to him. Wandering the streets looking for a stray dog might work but of course they then become a nuisance for the general public.

As he walks down 5^th avenue he becomes aware of someone following him. He turns down Morrison Street and watches to see if his pursuer makes the same turn, he does.

“What do you suppose that he wants”? Roscoe says to himself.

After walking one more block Roscoe turns suddenly to confront his nemesis.

Poof! The man disappears.

“What the hell!” He says out loud. As the words come out the man is suddenly standing beside him.

“What do you want?” Roscoe says to him.

“You don’t remember me do you?” The man questions.

“Should I?”

“I tried to mug you two years ago and you bit me.” The fellow says.

“Oh yes now I remember”

“And ever since then I can’t stand the light and I can only eat steak tartar.”

“So?” Roscoe puzzles.

“Do you know how much steak tartar costs?” The man says with indignation.

“Yes,” Roscoe says. I have had to resort to that myself quite often.”

“Well,” the man says. “I am going to kill you for doing that to me.”

“You moron, you can’t kill me, I am immortal.”

“What?” He says.

“Immortal, I live forever and so will you now.”

“Cool.”

“What now?” Roscoe says.

“You know, the Benson has a pretty good steak tartar.”