February, 1995: My (first) wife had left a month earlier, at the beginning of the year. I took the Lakeshore Limited to New York to visit my girlfriend, she worked in the legendary Broadway & 81st branch of Shakespeare & Co., which is unfortunately no longer with us.
I was writing a play, a different play about vampires. Most of it was composed on my new PowerBook 150, the last of the monochromatic Apple laptops. Sitting in Cafe lalo, waiting for her to get off work, I was very self-conscious about sitting there in the corner, tapping away on a computer. "Oh, look at me. I have a laptop and I'm using it in public." I was afraid someone who worked there would come up and say, you can't just plug in an appliance in our coffeeshop. It was 1995.
She gave me a galley proof of a book called Throat Sprocketsby Tim Lucas, an exciting and upsetting book, not about vampires but about vampiric tendencies.
Let me see if I can remember ... there's the underground porn film (there could never again be such a thing) that features neck biting. It becomes a sensation, there's an underclass of young people who bite each others' necks. I remember a minister or a priest suggesting that there's a generation of young people who do not know the fear, horror, privation of war, and that they have found a new way of experiencing that.
It was 1995.
Man, what cold a February. Standing on the platform with her, waiting five minutes for a train, the air was so still and frigid (sub-freezing for several days in a row) I stood in fear that if the air moved even slightly it would remove a layer of skin. Her apartment was very warm.