If I hadn't seen it for myself, I'd swear it couldn't be true: my brother, Christian, living in a trailer park in some backwater town, working at a karaoke bar. We're talking about Christian, the cultured, the refined, the snobby - the guy who'd probably sniff the plasma packets and send them back in a huff if the blood type wasn't the right vintage. But, after centuries of living in the undead fastlane, he's made...
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