Not quite a thousand words.
“Harold, Harold, Harold. Hold me. Let me hold you. Let me suck the blood from you as I bite your lovely neck.” Michelle cried out.
“What’s wrong, my dear? You seem more upset than this day should be.”
Michelle, the daylight vampire, cried, “I just can’t take it. Since I’ve lost my job at the blood bank, and having taken this job as tour guide, I have been going crazy.”
“Why?” Harold wondered, “They seem like lovely people.”
“Nonsense!” hissed Michelle. “These people are old. These people ask stupid questions. They want to tour every church. They eat apple sauce on the tram. They take pictures of everything. Now, they want to spend the afternoon drinking sweet, syrupy liqueurs — all afternoon — except for the beer-guzzling man that wants to get it on with me.”
“Oh honey, Just think of it.” responded Harold. “In a few hours, they will be fast asleep. You will be able to feed on them.”
“Dammit, Harold, I don’t want old, stale blood. I want fresh, fresh, fresh blood.” exclaimed Michelle.
Harold wondered, “Aren’t there any kids on the tour?”
“A few,” said Michelle, “but they are such bratty kids that their blood would taste sour. Except for maybe Edgar. That little shit is great at annoying the old folk. He does a good job of getting the blood in the old people boiling. I just wish it would boil out of their veins.”
“You are spitefully cruel, Michelle,” replied Harold. “Let’s go inside. I have a few pints available and that should hold you over until the tour group is done with their liquid lunch.”
“Oh, yeah…” whispered Michelle.