Fruit Leathers and Chicken Babies

The last thing I ate? A fruit leather. Lame, I know. And here I am now, workin' at a restaurant that serves burgers and rings and, like, seven types of beer, and I'm never gonna be able to have any of it. Kinda funny, isn't it? Don't get me wrong, I'm THRILLED to have a job (my first job, actually!) but the ironies of bein' a vampire seem never-endin'.

 

You know what's also never-endin'? First night here at Merlotte's. I like the job 'n all, but there isn't much goin' on. So far hostessing has been pretty easy. All I gotta do is walk people to an open table and wish 'em a good meal. But every time I walk by booth #4, I get this pit in my stomach. Like that fruit leather's still sittin' in there, but it's grown arms and legs and like, twelve times its original size, and it's gonna come crawlin' up my throat and pukin' outta my mouth at any moment. Not that vampires can puke, but still. Wait...can they? Anyway, booth #4 is where I met Hoyt. He said somethin' stupid about chicken babies and I was hooked. I guess maybe you have to know him. But my human life caught up with me tonight, and it put the whole Hoyt thing in perspective, I think. People move in and outta each others' lives all the time. Vampire or human, it's just a parta growin' up.