“Wheeeeeeeee!”

Morris glanced behind him, half smiling. Jackie was skating again. Not exactly ‘skating’, since she wasn’t wearing skates, but the thick layer of grease coating the floor more than compensated. Since Jackie was on an ice hockey team, the slimy floor was perfect practice ground.

“Y’know,” Jackie said as she slid past again. “We’d be so screwed if anyone from the board of health ever came in here. Don’t you think it’s a bit weird that we’ve never been audited?”

Morris nodded, knowing she’d keep talking whether he answered or not.

“If we ever did clean this floor, we’d probably have to bring in a street cleaner. Ooh, that’d be awesome! It’s just like a soapy zamboni! Do you think they’d let me drive it?”

Morris shrugged.

“Or maybe a power washer would work. That would be fun too. Chunks of ancient grease flying into the air as they’re blasted off the floor… A soapy zamboni would still be way cooler though. But whatever. If we had to clean this floor I’d quit. It’s the only reason I don’t mind working here, y’know?”

Morris nodded again.

“I love it. I’m getting paid to practice skating and as long as I show up on time and keep up with customers nobody cares. Come skate with me, Mo!”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“I’m having fun with these fries.”

“You’re so depressing.”

“Well—“

Just then the cowbell on the door clanked remorsefully, and Jackie grinned.

“Customer – your turn.”

Morris glared at her, then walked to the front counter, taking special care not to bring any attention to the greasy floor.

“Hi, welcome to Fry Hut, home of everything fried. Can I take your order?”

A large, almost spherical woman peered at the menu through tired piggish eyes. “Yeah, gimme two cheeseburgers and a large fries to go.”

He cringed inwardly at her grammar, her attitude, her being there, but his plastered smile never changed. “Would you like anything to drink with that?”

“Do you have any diet soda?”

“No, sorry, but we do ha—“

“Nevermind then. I can’t have regular soda.”

“No?”

“No, I’m on a diet.”

Morris nodded and tried to look sympathic as he put her order in a bag and handed it to her.

“Have a nice day, ma’am.”

A young man about the same age as Morris held the door for her, then walked in. His cheerful expression and blond hair contrasted sharply with his black clothing and the skull necklace he wore. A chill ran up Morris’s spine, though he wasn’t really sure why.

“Hi, uh, welcome to Fry Hut, home of any… everything fried. Can I take your order?”

“You’re dead?”

Morris blinked in shock. It took him a moment to realize this was a question and not a threat.

“D-do I look dead?”

“Yes, a bit.” His voice had a thick accent, though Morris couldn’t quite identify it. “Very pale, no heartbeat, faint trace of blood on your breath, and a strong vampiric aura.”

“Um…”

The other guy held out his hand. “Hi, Morris, I’m Hamish, and I’m so glad to find you here.”

“You even know my name?”

“Well you are wearing a nametag.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He shook Hamish’s extended hand. “So, out of mild curiosity, why me?”

“There aren’t any others of our kind here and I hate being the only vampire in town.”

“Okay, this is weird.”

“I’ve got to get going, but it was nice meeting you, Morris.”

“Um, right, you too.”

Morris walked back into the kitchen as the cowbell clanked.

“He didn’t even order anything.”

Jackie stuck her head out of the walk-in refridgerator. “What’d you say?”

“Some guy with a strange accent just came in, asked if I’m dead, shook my hand, and left.”

“That’s nice. Can you get this onto the top shelf for me?”