Heathcliff hummed quietly to himself as he waited for one of the women that lived in the same ghetto slum where he kept himself available most evenings for official Kindred business. The women here were worn out and poorly maintained, much like the apartments themselves. It was amid this squalor that Tania, a single black mother of three young daughters, took men to her broken-spring mattress to keep the family from despair.

"Hello again, Mister," she say, holding and the door for Heathcliff a tired smile on her face. It's late, and she hasn't bothered with make-up or lingerie. She budges out of sweat pants and a Tweety Bird tee.

"Hello, Tania," he says, sweeping in, and noting sadly how the woman's figure has gone the same way as the neighborhood- downhill. "How are things?" he asks, endeavoring to sound concerned as she led him past scurrying roaches to the back room.

"Fine," she answers plainly, her voice muffled as she unceremoniously removes the cartoon from her sagging, untethered chest, and Heathcliff felt suddenly filled with shame, as he remembered Beth, how beautiful she was on their honeymoon. "You okay, mister?" The Nosferatu nods as he places a few twenties on the nightstand, then moves in beside Tania. He lays her on the bed, climbs on top, and pushes his fangs deep into her carotid artery. Her blood spreads through his blasphemous flesh like a bacteria creeping into every undead cell. He feels sick and ashamed as he leaves the quietly moaning prostitute to her problems and resolves to start Herding more beautiful women in the near future. Maybe then, he could forget about Beth.