Patterson circulated through the cafe like a proud father at a wedding reception, his cape trailing behind him and his fangs gleaming whenever he smiled, which was often. He stopped at each table to ask how the experience was, recommended specific drinks with the enthusiasm of a sommelier, and at one point physically blocked a student from leaving without trying the Witch's Brew because the colour change was "a triumph of culinary engineering."
"We're pulling ahead," he told me during a brief stop at the espresso station, his eyes wild with a competitive fire that I found deeply concerning in a man his age. "3-C's haunted house had a malfunction with their smoke machine and two kids came out coughing. We're golden."
"That's a health and safety issue, not a competitive advantage."
"It's both, Angelo. It's both." He swept away, cape billowing, to accost another group of potential customers in the hallway.
