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While waiting, I noticed two truckers occupying stools at the counter and an elderly couple sitting silently in a booth by the window. Soon, an older waitress in a headscarf and with faded tattoos on her forearms came toward us.

The waitress approached us with laminated menus.

“I’m Peggy, your server. Just take a look at the menu and I’ll be right back to take your order.” She placed the two greasy menus on the table and walked away.

There wasn’t much to choose from on the menu. Morgan retrieved hand sanitizer from her purse before she would even open the trifold menu. Little things like that made me like her. I more than liked her, but I wasn’t willing to admit that yet.

When Peggy returned minutes later, Morgan ordered. “Cheeseburger, no onions, fries, and a diet coke.”

“We only have regular coke.” Peggy said with a sound of disinterest and the voice of a two-pack a day smoker.

“Okay, regular coke.”

“What size?” Peggy asked.

“Uh, uh, medium.” Morgan stuttered.

“Anything for you, hon?” The waitress asked me, pen poised over her notepad.

“Just coffee, black,” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t drink it, but I needed to appear normal.

Morgan raised an eyebrow after the waitress walked away. “You should at least pretend to eat something. You look suspicious as hell just watching me eat.”

I leaned back against the cracked vinyl. “Sorry, I forgot the human instruction manual where it says I need to pretend to eat disgusting diner food at almost one in the morning.”

She laughed at that, a genuine sound that brightened her face. I loved she could still laugh at a time like this.

“You’re actually funny sometimes. You know that?” She said, unwrapping her silverware from the paper napkin and inspecting its cleanliness.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. We’ve only been on one date.”

“Harlen, I know you not calling that fiasco at Club Bailar Caliente a date?”

“I am. I’m going to call this greasy diner date two.”

“Okay, I guess. Tell me something I don’t know about you.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “We’ve got time. Entertain me with tales of your long, boring undead life.”

I hesitated. I was uncertain how much to reveal. Most of my existence wasn’t grand. My life as a vampire was sort of dull.

“I don’t even know where to start.” I said, trying to think up the past.

“Start with before you were turned, or made. I don’t know what you guys call it. When did this even happen to you?”

“It happened in 1984. I’ve been ah, ya know, a Dracula, for a few decades but I’m not old and ancient. The 80s. Those were the good ole days. I used to be in a hair band.”

“What’s a hair band?”

“A rock band basically, but we all had long, big hair and wore makeup.”

“Oh god. You’re not joking. I have to see the pictures.”

“I burned the pictures.” I lied. I had a few photos back in L.A. tucked away in a safe place.

“I don’t believe you. I know you have pics.”

“Maybe.” I grinned. I was so happy she asked about my life and even happier to share something from my past with her. “

“What was the name of this rock band?”