Rare, Extra Ketchup

The alarm jarred Vlad awake. He stood with a grunt. Eight o’clock. After some coffee and a Sudoku puzzle to bring him to his senses, he found himself at a local drive-thru.

“Here’s your burger, rare, extra ketchup.”

Vlad took the greasy sack from the girl in the window. He flashed a smile and checked her name tag. “What time to you get off, LeeAnn?”

LeeAnn was mesmerized. “Twelve.”

“I’ll swing by then,” Vlad winked. A horn honked and he sped off, into the night.

Home again, Vlad climbed into his coffin for a short nap. Soon, he would feast.

Author of Frightful Fables, the tales that leave you screaming for more!
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