The coffin lid creaks open, he awakes with a large headache, fresh to the stale air of the night. He remembers the dream he just had of horses and ponies having high tea in a backyard garden. “They just can’t get any worse, can they?” He says.
“Just what in the name of Morpheus, horses and ponies?” Reckoning it pointless to contemplate, he takes a deep breath, lets it out and coughs, choking in on a little saliva. “Hello black night like tar again.” He said with a sigh.

He brushes his hair and hits the dust off his opulent Armani suit, the very one he’s been wearing for some four years now. A vampire doesn’t need to change ever so often, he always thought. “We don’t sweat a lot. And money doesn’t come easily for a glamorous look, and a vampire has to look good, whether by practice or unspoken rule.” But four years is a long time. By now he’s completely oblivious to the smell.

He steps out of the room of the cheap decaying apartment he’s been putting up with for a few months, making his way down the stairs. The old landlady ever slouching by the counter lobby is aroused.

“The month’s payment’s due, you.” She said.

Distraught, he pokes his two hands into his pockets. “When I get back. Definitely when I get back.” He replied.
“Aren’t you the taxpayer.” She says, pointing up a middle finger.
He wonders why he ever puts up with the things around him. Making his way down the avenue, head throbbing, he mounts the sidewalk disparagingly and enters the Vampire bar, unbeknownst to mortals.