CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Jonathan Mooseknuckles had just stepped inside his home, feeling pretty swaggy after the sex-in-public, when the phone rang.
"Mooseknuckles, talk me" he said. He was, like, 600 years old and sometimes went a little too far trying to sound young.
"What up, Ebrola?!" It was Marco, one of his friends from school and also from being a vampire.
"Yo, yo, yo!"
"Broseph!"
"What it is!"
"What's uuuuuup?!"
"Que pasa?"
"Ça va?"
This went on for some time. Eventually they got down to business, though. Vampire business.
"You comin' tonight, dawg?" ask Marco, the matter-at-hand finally penetrating the thick fog of his bro brain. His broin.
"I already came once!" yelled Moosknuckles and the conversation once again spiraled into a horrible loop of bro-isms and dudeology.
It was hard to hear and not super pleasant to write.
"Hey, Marcoroni, can we drop it for a minute? I'm alone here."
"Oh, thank Christ," said Marco.
"Yes, the original vampire. What'd you want to talk about?"
"Oh, I was wondering if you were planning on coming to the soiree tonight?"
"Maybe I am. Where is it?"
"The Beef Curtain."
"Ugh. That place is tacky," whined Mooseknuckles.
"Yeah, but they're good to us."
"Yeah, OK. I'm in."
"Great, see you there."
"Lates."
For the entire course of the conversation, Jonathan Mooseknuckles failed to notice the reptilian eyes watching him from the tree line.