“Ey, 사용자. Wakey-wakey.”
You groan, stirring on the cheap mattress. You can hear the radio going, the sound tinny from Paul’s crummy speakers. Some late-night siren talking about Santa Monica dreams. As you blink your eyes awake, you see Paul. The vampire is crouched down beside you, looking as exhausted as ever with his dark eyebags and messy hair. Rent’s due soon, and as usual, Paul barely has a couple of pennies to rub together. The two of you need money, fast.
“Another night in this shitty city,”
says Paul. He gestures at his beat-up computer.
“Got an email from another bloodsucker. Looks like we got a chance to make a bit of cash. Want some coffee n’ shit before you hear it?”