The floor slants to the north. Something they should have taken care of before selling. He wonders if that's more Armand's style; flipping and reselling. Not a landlord. Not a capitalist. Louis became one and Armand started eating them. He can hear him saying it, he can see, in a muddy, disoriented blink of recall, the vampire who is now his maker leaning down and touching fingertips to a blood puddle that's been slowly oozing Oregonward. He doesn't know if it's a real part of a memory or just a fabrication when his gaze moves up to watch Armand put his fingers in his mouth as he stared blankly at the tape recorder.

So

having a normal time, tonight.

"That's funny."

He still has it. Daniel can go see it. Check if it's haunted or not. (With what? The ghost of things he can't remember? A poltergeist made of the junkie who should have died in the 70s?)

"What were you doing before this?"

New Orleans, something about New Orleans. Something about having to get home before the baby wakes up, but something something, he doesn't speak Italian. What? Daniel rubs the bridge of his nose.