Attempt at linking to Friday Fictioneers.
Boots thundering along, Trent never before found himself happier to see garlic. The papery husks hung like a beacon of comfort. Safety in mere moments. Beads of perspiration threatened his lip, but he snuffed it up, striving toward the subway. Silvery laughter caught in the air, but Trent ignored temptation to see if his captures followed.
Trent did not believe in vampires. The nightclub mirrored a NYC Friday night, and the twin pinpricks on his neck felt cliché. So much for diversity in Europe.
The first bite of garlic did him in – one mustn’t believe in vampires to become one.