In a 3 star hotel on the corner of town, in room 304 a
journalist fumbles in his bag of cassette whilst a tall man
stands at the bay view windows.  The tall slim man is
dressed in a long black raincoat and is watching as the
world goes by.  Car lights dazzle the squalid, darkened room
and the tall slim man is watching as a young female
streetwalker in a fur coat and tight leather mini-skirt
adjusts her fishnet stockings for her next punter.

Tall Slim Man: We can't start this way.
Journalist: What?  Sorry, I missed that.

Journalist continues to fumble around in his case.  The tall
man turns to face the journalist, who produces a fistful of
cassettes and a small recorder.

Tall Slim Man: We can't start this way, I said.  Look let me
turn the lights on.

In a fraction of a section the lights are on and the tall
slim man is standing in exactly the same spot.  The
journalist reels back in his chair very nearly knocking over
all his carefully laid out tapes and recorder.

Journalist: I didn't even see you move.

The tall slim man produces a small black box and lays it on
the table.

Tall Slim Man: The wonders of technology, remote controlled
lighting.  Look, even has a knob on it to adjust the level.

The tall slim man pulls out a chair, removes his coat
putting it on the back of the chair and sits at the table.

Tall Slim Man: My name is Martin.
Journalist: Right, Martin, and you are a vampire.
Martin: A real vampire
Journalist: I see, I am sorry, I meant a 'real vampire'.  So
tell me, how long have you been a real vampire?
Martin: Well, I suppose the time I was absolutely sure was
about 2 or 3...
Journalist: Centuries?
Martin: No, years.
Journalist: Oh, I see, so you are new to this vampire thing
then?
Martin: No not really, I mean I got the hang of it after the
first year.  Well it all started falling into place after my
flying lesson.
Journalist: You can fly.
Martin: Well not exactly.  I was a vampire for no more than
six months when some friends on the net told me that
vampires could fly, even told me how to do it.  So I climbed
on to the roof of my parents house and in a squat position I
meditated, clearing my mind of all images except a bat.  I
concentrated on the bat really hard, and when I was ready I
rolled forward off the roof.
Journalist: And then you flew?
Martin: Well, sort of, downwards.  I honestly don't remember
much more, and when they took me off the ventilator I
decided not to try that stunt again and I didn't speak to
those bastards either.
Journalist: I see and how long were you in hospital.
Martin: Almost a month, and the leg and arm casts came off
almost eight weeks later.  I still limp.
Journalist: So you didn't hastily regenerate.
Martin: Hell no, and I was on these painkillers for ages,
very nearly flipped out a couple of time.
Journalist: But you claim to be a vampire
Martin: No I am a real vampire.
Journalist: I see.  So tell me are you affected by the
normal things we read about in vampire novels, I mean
crucifixes, garlic, and crossing running water, daylight...
tell me do stakes through the heart kill you?
Martin: Damn right, but what would happen to you if I staked
you through the heart?
Journalist: Right, point taken.  So I take it you are not
immortal.
Martin: Well I am not too sure about that; ask me again in a
hundred years.  No, I am not immortal.  Sorry just a little
bit of vampire humour.
Journalist: So as a real vampire do you drink blood?
Martin: Oh definitely, that is one of the characteristics
that separates us from other people.  But there are some
wannabes that drink blood diluted in red wine, what a
disgusting habit that is.
Journalist: And the consumption of blood keeps you alive?
Martin: No, I get a great deal of pleasure from it.  I will
tell you a secret, but after drinking I feel this
overwhelming power tingle through my entire body, it is such
a buzz.
Journalist: So you gain something from consuming blood, and
what do you do with the body when you have finished.
Martin: Well, she then usually drinks some of my blood and
then we go to sleep, but I wouldn't go around calling my
girlfriend a 'body' though, 'cos she'll just kick your ass.
Journalist: Right, so you haven't killed anyone?
Martin: In case you didn't know that's illegal and can get
you a life sentence, so no I haven't killed anyone, and I do
not intend to.  Well except...
Journalist: What?  Vampire slayers?
Martin: No worse, can't remember what they are called.
There are these know-alls that roam around looking for
vampires.
Journalist: What?  Devil worshippers?  Mad scientists?
Martin: Far worse than that; role-players.
Journalist: Role-players?
Martin: Yeah, they come to some of the meetings I go to
claiming they are really vampires also.  You can identify
them easily, they tend to wear Masquerade T-shirts and start
the conversation with, "And what clan do you belong to?"
Admittedly not all role-players, some have harnessed the
differences between fantasy and reality, but you do get
those that find it rather difficult.
Journalist: So lets just get a few clear points here then.
You are not immortal, you cannot fly, crucifixes do not
affect you, and neither do running water nor garlic, what
about sunlight?
Martin: Nope, but I do choose not to go out in it that
often, but that's just a personal thing.  But some of the
real vampires choose to be affected by some of the old
traditional things.  I know one guy who actually sleeps in a
coffin; you wouldn't catch me doing that.
Journalist: And I don't suppose you are undead, are you?
Martin: No, I am a real vampire.  Look, it seems clear to me
that you have the wrong idea about vampires and real
vampires.  If you want to speak to a vampire then get a
ticket to Transylvania, but if you want to talk to real
vampires then here I am.
Journalist: Well I am really sorry to have wasted your time,
but I think I have enough information now, I will be in
touch.

The journalist picks up his tapes and his recorder, dropping
them all into his case and makes for the window.

Martin: I guess I'll wait until you have called then.
Journalist: I guess so.

With that the journalist opens the window, transforms into a
bat and flies away.
Martin passes out...