“Morris, it’s lovely!” Janet exclaimed. She ran a finger along the frame of the painting.

“It’s just straws,” Morris protested, embarrassed.

“Oh, no, there’s more to your painting than that!”

“Okay, it’s a bunch of straws in a mug.”

Janet shot him a reproachful glance over the top of her glasses. “Maybe to the untrained eye it is. You did put a meaning into your painting, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Morris lied. “It’s, uh… well, what do you see in it?”

“I see the straws as a symbol of friendship within our society – all bunched up in that mug, they’d have to be friends. And all the different colors you made them could represent the different kinds of people we all are.”

Morris raised his hands in mock surprise. “You got it again, Miss Janet. How can you always see the pictures’ meanings?”

“It’s not me!” Janet ran a hand through her gray curly hair, trying to hide her smile of pride. “You just have a way of making your art say so much. Now then, back to work for me. Can I get you anything before you go, Morris?”

“No thanks. I’ve got to be somewhere in uh—“ He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now! Shit! I’m late!”

Janet laughed as Morris ran out the door and down the sidewalk, then she looked around the room. The walls were decorated with several of Morris’s paintings – all of them featuring drinking straws. And they looked so nice in her ice cream parlor, didn’t they? Of course, some were noticeably better than others as Morris was still learning new painting techniques, and one rather disturbing picture had a pickaxe hiding behind a row of straws, but she loved them all.

Morris ran until he was sure he was completely out of sight, then jumped onto the roof of the nearest building. As much as he hated being a vampire, it did have some cool benefits. Like being able to jump that high, or not run out of breath, or even have to breathe. As he ran across the rooftops, he realized he couldn’t remember what coffee tasted like. What a shame. He used to love coffee. And garlic toast. He mentally cringed just thinking about garlic toast.

“Shut up, Morris,” he muttered to himself. “Stop thinking and run. Late again – I’m fired for sure.”

He dropped down to the sidewalk and ran the last two blocks to the Fry Hut. The cowbell on the door jangled pathetically as he entered the dingy building.

“Hey, Mo!” Someone yelled from the kitchen. “Beware the boss – you’re dead if you’re late again, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. Throw me a hat?” He punched in the numbers on the time clock as a paper hat flew across the room and hit him in the side of the head.

“She shoots, she scores!” Jackie started up a sports commentary from the kitchen doorway. “And Mo could bring this game back, but no! He puts it on his head! What a loss for the visiting team and oh, hello, Simon. Nice morning this morning! Lots of dishes. Goodbye” She straightened her own paper hat and returned to the dishwasher as the manager walked in.

Morris hung his head. “Hi.”

Simon shook a finger in his face. “Last warning, Morris. If you’re late one more time, you’re dead. And I really do mean it this time.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Being on time, now that’s what matters.” Simon tapped his watch to emphasize the importance, then walked out the back door to smoke.

Jackie snorted loudly, trying not to laugh. “If you’re late one more time, you’re dead!” She nearly collapsed into the industrial sink in a fit of laughter.

“Not funny, Jackie! Okay, maybe a little, but I’m going to get fired!”

“No you won’t.”

“How so?”

“Just don’t be late again.”

“That’s it? ‘Just don’t be late again’?”

“Yep, that’s it!” She took off her watch and handed it to him. “Now don’t get fired.”

“Um, thanks?”

“I’ve got something else for you, too.”

“What’s that?”

She grinned and handed him a deep-fryer basket. “Have fun making those french fries!”