A vampire struggling with anxiety, who is trying to blend in with humans and has given up on finding his mate ends up finding others of his kind in Boston. excerpt: It would seem to some a peculiar memento for an immortal to keep a journal. I have discovered that in my times of darkness the only thing that keeps me sane is daily writing. Imagine. A vampire walks into a psychologists office, lays back on the couch. The psychologist is blonde and buxom, pen and pad in hand ready to "fix or assist". "What brings you here, sir" she would say. The immortal glances over notices no ring on her finger, feeling his fangs extending brushing his bottom lip. The immortal letting out a sigh glances over at the beautiful doctor his mind reeling with what to say. The frustration in knowing that this beautiful being, who probably tastes like pure honey, is highly unqualified to deal with my issues.... Well at least in the therapy department.