70s Vampire

Black blazer and a striped shirt, black and white paisley handkerchief stuffed into the pocket, bleach blonde ponytail pulled back, aviator sunglasses, faded bell bottoms, and black pointy boots on the subway at 9 in the morning, playing some game on his iPod while he stands in front of the doors. There's a big chunk of silver around his ring finger.  

If I wrote fiction I'd make this guy into some kind of immortal being, probably a vampire, because that's how you make money nowadays.  He's been living in New York for about 60 years.  Before he bites his victims he likes to talk about how much he loved the 70s.  He goes on and on about the 70s, and his victims are like "Just bite me already and shut up about this disco stuff." 

Really, though, he's thinking about the end of the world.  He knows that immortality is impossible, that there is a finite amount of energy in the universe and it is spreading further and further out, that the sun will consume the earth, and he wonders what happens to him then. That's a ways away, though.  The seventies will have been over for eons, and maybe by then he'll be tired of drinking blood and wearing sunglasses inside.  For now, he'll distract himself with this game on his iPod where you fling little birds and try to knock stuff over.  He really loves this game.