I am about to turn the corner when I hear someone call out to me. I pivot on my heel. There are three of them; large, burly beasts of men. And all are quite clearly drunk. "'Ey, laddie!" calls the man at the front of the group; a man who is surprisingly short for a leader. "What's it like bein' a blood-sucker?" Though I'm not used to his harsh, Irish accent, I understand him; and despite the gap, I can see the spittle flying out of their mouths as they laugh. I cringe at the sight. Disgusting.