Vampires in Washington
Yeah, that's right. Vampires. Here. In DC. Yup. No shit. And no, I don't mean metaphorical vampires, like the politicians and lobbyists and neocons and evangelicals and protesters and drug dealers and muggers and the countless other parasites that feed off the lifeblood of the naive and innocent and stupid and make this town what it is, but real vampires, as in Dracula. Yeah, the real deal. Blood drinkers who need it to survive another night, rather than the gothic goobers who walk around calling themselves vampires and sipping a teensy bit of each other's blood in what amounts to nothing more than a pathetic game of "here's how I'm gonna get laid" mystique. You know, the walking undead who can't step foot in sunlight and who are damned for all eternity to feast on the blood of the living. Those vampires. They are here, in Washington, going about their business of draining the unwitting and unlucky of their precious vitae, unbreathing fiends prowling in the dusky shadows of the monuments and halls of power, feasting on the army of itinerant interns, aspiring aides, dramatic do-gooders, and drunken hangers-on spilling out on the pavement after nights of pseudo politicking and clumsy philandering, thinking they are impervious to these hungry monsters simply because such creatures do not exist. How wrong they are.
I have seen them. To most, they appear as nothing special, in fact they are extremely skilled at appearing to be nothing special, either as a consequence of long practice or because they possess some supernatural ability that renders them so to those who, unlike me, are far less used to peering into the darkness that surrounds us, whispering, threatening. The odd fellow in the back corner of Tortilla Coast, the lone woman nursing a dark wine in a booth at the 18th Street Lounge, the guy standing outside Madam's Organ with his hands in his pockets, wool cap pulled low. But I see them for what they are; their eyes sunken and red, their teeth exposed, their hunger nearly a howl to my ears. I don't confront them or even let them see my awareness, if that's possible. I merely notice, shiver briefly, and move away, putting distance between us in the hopes that somehow the reality of the situation will diminish with each step further away I am. But I know better. I know I am no safer than anyone else. I know that even my knowledge makes no difference.
There are vampires in the nation's capital. Most terrifying is that they are not the greatest of my concerns.
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