John finishes wiping down the bar, pissed as hell that he got stuck with cleaning up after everyone. It was just another night for the young bartender, a little buzzed, but trying to keep it down so he could drive home. And then everyone up and leaves him, and hes the manager. So bitch and moan tomorrow, get things cleaned up tonight. The last table is wiped, the chairs are up, the alcohol is capped and safe. A fleeting thought, of taking the broom handle and just smashing the bottles. A couple thousand dollars, poof! Gone. John smiles, but instead focuses on cleaning.

He wanders back to his car, the lot is deserted except for his vehicle. He doesn't worry about keeping his eyes open or looking around. He's a fit guy in his 20s leaving a bar at 3 am. The muggers know he doesn't have much, and so why bother him.

David slinks out of the shadows, walking rapidly towards the target all alone in the lot. No security cameras, no witnesses, no problems. He glides behind him, matching pace for two steps before jumping forward, slamming the food into it's car. He sinks his fangs in quickly, the buzz of alcohol strong, but not overpowering. The hot blood pours down his throat in ecstasy, the most delicious of all liquids. David wants to keep going, wants to never stop drinking, but he resists, the beast is not him. He lets the man go too soon it feels. Licking the wound clean, he leaves the prey slumped over his car hood.