Lestat hasn't learned about Grindr yet. When he does, it'll be an even sadder day for queer studies theorists and gay rights activists everywhere.

Currently he is considering a setback for how shamelessly all over Louis that Jeannie is allowing her boyfriend to be, which is an exaggeration, but only just. Hands on hips and not moving to slink back into the crammed little seat of the booth, he says, "And we are finished killing for our supper," like a pleasantly thrown bucket of cold water.

(It's fine. The two truckers that were down a table have moved on, and the waitress has her Airpods in while she cleans up another.)

"I'm driving," he adds, with the clack of car keys in hand that had at some point been in Daniel's pocket but are now in Lestat's palm.