vampire at the bar

a Polaroid: the kid is super Michael Jackson-y with powder white face, Baby Jane Hudson red lips in a smear smear, corn yellow teeth, layer cakes of black something-or-other denim, goth cape accoutrement. who is this Captain Midnight who rides the stool at the end of the bar at the end of the world seconds before last call? should i, would i, 4 beers in the pocket, strike up the band? i need to hear a sound, an emanation, a gesture, a cough, a clue? i need something to give him away, to set me up with an angle to hit on. while i'm throwing my can-i-buy-you-a-beer-where-are-you-from-do-you-smoke-pot resume together i see, in one dark corner, a familiar face, an almost-but-not-quite...friend. i think there's a Tangueray and tonic sparkling in one upraised claw. we share the loud gay laugh, have a similar over-the-glasses view of life, of odd behaviors and friends in common but don't know each other well. the point being: as i perch three stools to the left of the dark drifter, casing him out with a whale's eye, i twist and cast a lighthouse lamp across the joint and see my friend waving. oh. i get it. he is captivated. he has an interest in Iago. i twirl back and see that Mr Spellbound-by-his-own-monologue has two blokes giving fascinated unconditional attention. the voice is lispy, an alto. eew. the relief i feel at being turned off (knowing i won't have to take a fool's stab) is palpable. it is a sigh of the body. it is then that my friend from the corner has mounted the stool next to mine and stares like a bird dog at Zorro. the bartender asks if he needs a drink. 'oh no, i'm here to see my friend rick,' he purrs, eyes lasered onto Hamlet, who is collecting his black shoulder bag, black iPhone, black everything and heading out the door. 'here to see, rick?' i scoff. 'you are so full of shit.' 'that obvious, huh?' 'are you kidding!?' (like next-door-neighbor house wives hanging laundry and gossiping, the bond of predators). 'i think i've seen my first vampire,' 'he says. one wonders if one should allow oneself to be entertained by a total stranger in black who might nip you in the neck and who might have been reading up on the Craig's List killer. he hasn't been back.