I have many haunts throughout the city, but I do have a home. It is a small, brick townhouse on a tiny forgotten street. Most of the other shelters along this byway were turned into commercial establishments long ago. But they open onto the next street which is wider. All I can see are bricked up entrances, or the occasional metal door leading to some storage chamber. I like it like that. It is quieter. No one really knows that I am here. Usually I have to change houses every fifteen years or so to prevent the neighbors from noticing that I do not age. But I have been here for just over seventyfive years. I like it. It suits me. One of my familiars serves as housekeeper. She appears to be a weathered seventy year old woman. True, she is still technically mortal, but tiny infusions of my miraculous blood have enabled her to achieve onehundred and forty human years. She says that she wants to die soon. And I promised her I'd stop the infusions as soon as I got someone else. But you know how hard it is to find good help these days. For I do so like a clean house. I draw comfort from the gleaming hardwood floors and freshly vacuumed fine orientals. Everything is kept just so and it is not like she has much to do in the kitchen. True, she does buy food for herself and she does have to clean the bathroom that she uses. Aside from my numerour hot baths, my washroom stays mostly spotless. It's not like I use the toilet or anything. And she watches the place during the day, while I 'sleep' in the cool, moist pit in the windowless cellar. There's a thick bed of dried rose petals (other flowers too) at the bottom. It is actually quite pleasant when I jockey the heavy, stone slab over the opening. The perfect nest for the not so perfect vampire. I often dream about my mortal family while curled in that nest. I never saw them again after my transformation. The Trinitarians were beginning to threaten our region of Al Andaluz and I learned that my people had emigrated to the East. Some said Syria, others claimed they'd joined a remnant of Khazar fellow believers somewhere on the plains of Kievan-Rus (you know it as Ukraine). I spent time in many places. Sometimes I tried to find my family. From time to time I'd run into a descendant in some European marketplace. I would know them. I would just know who they were. But I kept my distance, not wanting to upset them or put them in danger. After all people were burned for consorting with creatures like me. Oh, look! They have the soft, black, leather boots that I like in that shop. Please excuse me while I release the mind of my wilkravitz familiar (who types this out for me) and go in to make my purchase. Who knows? Perhaps later I will stroll over to a few of my favorite galleries and look at the pictures. I enjoy this urbane environment. My sensabilities are quite cinematic. I view my life as one grand art film. I even imagine a love theme. It is the Seal song that goes...'Look at me... I'm one of your secrets... You belong to me... And I belong to you.' I am sorry. I cannot sing very well. Some individuals think that I can, but I do not agree with them. Adios.