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Go for Spike

I communicated with her and we agreed to meet at a tea shop called “The Black Cup.” It was only a few miles from my home, but since I’m not much of a tea drinker, I’d never been there before. I expected some sort of prissy pink place with lace doilies everywhere, but I was off. Way off.

I’d never so much black in my life. Black walls, black carpet, even black painted cups. Everyone inside wore black, from tight fitting black leather to long flowing black dresses. One woman stood up and walked over. She had a black leather dress covered with black leather straps and a purse made out of black chains. She smiled and I suddenly recognized her as my date.

“Greetings, Car,” she said, “and welcome to my darkened presence. Sit.”

Nodding, I sat down, while she rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small pocket knife. “Do you want to make your blood sacrifice now or later?” (Uhm, never.) It took me two seconds to bolt from the tea shop.

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