Larry woke in the bathtub. He’d trained himself that well, at least, even if he’d forgotten his pants last night. He turned the water on without standing. One more night at full, he told himself, scrubbing the dirt and blood away under too-hot spray.
When Larry opened his mouth to gargle, he felt something hard pinched between his cheek and gum. He coughed and spat it into his hand: a dog tag. “Rusty”
“Shit,” said Larry. The Basinger’s new puppy. Must’ve picked a fight with the big dog. Do I say something?
He wondered if vampires ever nicked themselves shaving.
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