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And to All a Good Night, or: How the Vampire Learned to Like Christmas
By Daniel Molloy
A year and a half ago, I told a vampire in Dubai that I don’t write fluff pieces anymore. Unfortunately, I now have to prove him wrong.
It’s amazing how much your perspective on the world changes after learning that vampires are real and you become one yourself. One day, you’re letting bloodsuckers drain the life out of you in corporate America. And the next, you’re doing the same thing but at night. But hiding somewhere among the bloodshed, the toxic boyfriends, and the pit of despair you’ve created for yourself is something you never thought you’d find again: The joy in making something that’s yours. And at the end of the day (Or I guess, the beginning of mine), that’s what you need to keep going.
I figured this out the moment I became a vampire. It’s what I do to keep me busy when the Vampire Armand ditches me for a week-long bender without so much as a note on the milk carton. But it took some of my new friends a little longer to figure this out. In fact, that boytoy rockstar Lestat (who could almost pass for one of those Twilight vampires with the amount of body glitter he wears when he performs) found his calling just in time for the holidays.
Call it a Christmas miracle, a pure coincidence, or whatever bullshit you believe in. Whatever it is, it’s the story you won’t find him talking about in future interviews. I don’t even think he gave me permission to publish this, but inspiration strikes when you least expect it. And what better time to write a puff piece than the holidays?
So from your resident Pulitzer-winning, Jewish, old man vampire, this is a Christmas story for the modern age.
~
For the first time in his immortal life, Lestat de Lioncourt had writer’s block. He was never stuck on what to say. Even in speaking, he was always able to conjure a witty comeback or a romantic line. Songwriting was always a little tougher, though. He much preferred music over lyrics, as the notes would come to him almost instantly for a song.
With lyrics, he had to really think about them. He had to keep rhyme schemes and syllables in mind and try to conjure a story within them. It was maddening work, but someone had to do it. And in the end, it always worked out. After all, he had been able to launch a successful rock career with a self-written album.
But this was different. This song didn’t want to be sung. The notes weren’t coming, the lyrics didn’t blend, and it all sounded like the work of a pop star on the verge of washing up. And Lestat was not a failure. He didn’t come this far in life to be stumped by one little song.
So he spent the entire night draped across his living room couch with his guitar planted over his stomach like a weight. He didn’t even try to hunt, instead sipping on the leftover blood supply he kept in the fridge. Nothing could bring him to leave the house tonight. He wouldn’t leave until he had something to present to his manager. But at the rate he was going, he wouldn’t have anything.
Lestat’s fingers slowly plucked the strings of his guitar, trying to conjure any semblance of a chord while saying the first thing that came to mind.
“The snow is falling.
The lights have been strung.
It’s Christmastime,
And I’m...so hung.”
Lestat threw his head back over the couch arm, his blond waves draping down while he made a giddy giggle. It was the kind of laugh one made when they were on the brink of madness. Frankly, he wasn’t far from it at this point.
Clearing his throat, he pulled his head back, resumed his slump, and strummed his guitar strings much louder and faster than before.
“Hey hey,
It’s Christmastime!
Hey hey,
I...need a better rhyme.”
Lestat groaned and smacked his forehead into the guitar, causing several strings to lose their tuning. He sunk lower into the couch and sighed, shaking his head while he gazed up at the white ceiling above him.
Hours of work were behind him, and he hadn’t even written a first verse. So this was why pop stars had other people write their songs. Maybe they were onto something.
Lestat strummed the notes of his previous song once more, humming the melody under his breath. While he did, he faintly heard the front door open beside him followed by the shuffling of feet into the house. His heart raced as he realized who had joined him, as it was just the assistance he needed in his darkest hour.
“Hello, Lestat,” Louis de Pointe du Lac said as he breezed by.
Lestat’s boyfriend didn’t even look at him as he marched into the kitchen, too focused on the camera wrapped around his neck. Lestat pushed himself to his feet and ran around the kitchen island to stand before him.
“Louis!”
He grabbed Louis’s face and pulled him in for a brief, deep kiss, finally urging Louis to notice him. As they pulled away, he watched with wide eyes as Lestat rushed back to his spot on the couch and sat upright.
“Oh, mon coeur , I’m so happy you’re back. I need your help now more than ever.”
Louis chuckled. “I didn’t think I was gone that long. I was just taking some pictures of the Christmas decorations in town. Wait until you see these.”
He sat down in the armchair adjacent from him and tapped on the arrow button on his camera to sweep through his pictures.
“I got this great shot of a star made entirely out of garland that was hanging in between the street lights. They must have used some kind of dye to make it yellow instead of green, and I found the perfect angle to almost make it look like a real star shining up in the sky. And it looks like the department store put up a different window display than last year-”
“I will look at your photography later, Louis. I promise. But right now, we are talking about my work.”
Lestat ignored the way Louis deflated, instead leaning over to fold his hands together. “Do you know a good rhyme for ‘time?’”
“Um...I guess...” Louis stammered as he looked away to shrug, “Maybe...climb? Chime? Crime? Prime? Night...time? Yeah. What if you did nighttime? You know, keep up with your theme.”
Lestat scoffed. “I am trying to make a rhyme for time. I cannot have Christmastime rhyme with nighttime. That removes the entire purpose of a rhyme in the first place! I need you to think for once, Louis!”
“Well, don’t ask for my help in the first place if you ain’t goin’ to like it!”
Louis wrinkled his nose and pushed himself further back into his seat. He continued scanning through his photos, trying to find ones worth printing and ones he could delete. He only made it through three before he realized what Lestat was trying to write.
“Are you writing a Christmas song?”
Lestat made a dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately.”
“Why?”
Lestat flippantly waved his hand in the air. “It was a last-minute request from my label. When I told them that I don’t have a second album written yet, they said I should put out a Christmas song to ‘hold my audience over’ until I have better work.”
Louis couldn’t fight back the smirk forming on his face while he chuckled to himself. Lestat unfortunately noticed and pushed himself back, draping his arm over the couch cushion.
“And what is so funny about that?”
“Just the fact that they asked the one vampire who doesn’t believe in God to write a Christmas song.”
“Yes, I thought the same thing myself.” Lestat shook his head as his gaze shifted towards the darkened horizon of San Francisco outside their window. “It’s pointless. Isn’t it enough that they make us go to church and worship a miraculous birth that we cannot prove occurred? Why must we sing about it too?”
Lestat set his guitar aside and pushed himself off the couch. He slid over to Louis and leaned over his chair’s arm, practically whispering in his ear while he kissed his neck.
“Music is meant for love. It’s a way to say, ‘I love you. I need you. I want you so much that my heart aches at the very thought of you. I want to place your body underneath mine and taste every inch of you.’”
Louis hummed with each touch from Lestat’s lips, craning his neck to the side on impulse for easier access. He almost gave in completely, letting his true love ravish his body until sunrise. Lestat’s power was so easy to succumb to, and he could feel his waters slowly beginning to drown his senses into oblivion once more. Unfortunately, his caresses weren’t enough to make him lose focus on the topic at hand.
“Some people like Christmas music, Lestat. Besides, it’s not all religious. Most of them aren’t. They’re just about...enjoying the season with the people you loved.”
Lestat pulled away to groan and trudged back to his seat on the couch. “It’s the principle of it. It’s all meaningless. Why must we write a song for one day a year? It will all be over in an instant anyway.”
Louis made a frustrated sigh as Lestat took up his guitar once more and slightly turned his tuning pics. Clearly he wasn’t going to be able to get through to him on the subject. Lestat didn’t often take his advice anyway, and if he did, it was done reluctantly.
Despite having orated an entire memoir, he didn’t think of himself as a poet. Lestat needed an expert. Luckily, they had friends for that.
Shrugging, Louis asked, “Why don’t you ask Daniel for help?”
Lestat looked up to narrow his eyes. “The interviewer?”
“Do we know any other Daniels?”
“You may not, but I might. San Francisco is a big city, and my social circles run much deeper and more vastly than yours.”
Louis rolled his eyes and resumed studying his pictures.
Lestat continued, “Why should I talk to him?”
“‘Cause he’s a professional. He’s been writing for decades. Not songs, but still writing. Maybe he can give you some tips to help you get started.”
Lestat quirked his lip and shrugged as the thought planted into his mind. Maybe Louis was onto something. Musicians asked professional writers for help all the time. While he much preferred to be a one-man show, he was at his wit’s end. Just this once, he would sink to the level of others in his field.
Besides, it was only for one song. He’d be back to himself in no time.
~
“So you want to write a Christmas song, huh?”
Daniel Molloy sat across from Lestat in the former’s townhouse, the kitchen table separating them on opposite sides. Daniel didn’t mind the distance. The further away he could keep himself from Lestat, the better. Normally, the only time he spoke to him was for magazine interviews or on double dates. He didn’t need any more exposure to him than that.
Unfortunately, Lestat had already been welcomed into his home more than once, so he couldn’t turn him away. It was how he found himself whipping out the china he received as a present from his first marriage to sip blood with one of the country’s biggest rockstars in his kitchen.
Licking the leftover blood off his lips, Lestat said, “Exactly.”
“So your first thought was to go to the Jewish guy and the Muslim for advice.”
The corner of Lestat’s mouth twitched ever so slightly, and an awkward blush washed over his cheeks. He forced out a nervous laugh then sloshed the crystal glass in his hand, the blood swirling around to stain it.
“Of course. You’re both my fellow outsiders in the holiday. Who better to turn to than kindred spirits?”
“Uh huh.” Daniel made a knowing glare as he took his own sip. “So if I were to reach out to Louis right now, he wouldn’t tell me that you’re here right now because I’m the only person in this city with a writing career who’s willing to talk to you?”
“I wouldn’t give Louis so much credit, Daniel,” a new voice said. “His own knowledge of writers in San Francisco only stretches so far.”
Both vampires’ heads turned towards the hallway adjacent to them and watched the third member of their party finally join them. The Vampire Armand strode into the kitchen with his head held high, his black waves bouncing against his neck with each step. However, it was much messier than usual, almost looking as if he just rolled out of bed.
He never so much as looked in Daniel’s direction, but his boyfriend caught a glimpse of just how dilated his pupils had become since they last saw each other. He knew exactly what he’d been doing.
“Well, look who finally decided to come out of his pretty boy cave,” Daniel said to Armand, watching as he walked over to the fridge. “What happened? Did the twelve-year-old boys you play Minecraft with call you a mean name again?”
“For your information, I moved on from Minecraft for the time being. You would know that if you bothered to acknowledge my advances.”
Armand pulled the refrigerator door open and rifled through the bottles of blood they kept on supply. Unlike Louis and Lestat, hunting nights were few and far between thanks to their workaholic personalities living under one roof. They needed to stock up as much as possible to make it through the evening...and also with each other.
Armand continued, “I’m currently undergoing a session of Stardew Valley.”
Daniel wrinkled his nose. “What is that, a new Mario Brothers level?”
Armand balanced his arm on the refrigerator door to finally look at him, dangling his vial of choice over the side. “It’s a roleplaying simulation where players acquire a plot of farmland and cultivate it while also romancing the townsperson of your choice. It’s meant to resemble what true farm life is like in the Midwest while offering romantic endeavors players are lacking in their real lives.”
“First of all, your subtlety needs some work. You worked with actors for 500 years. Take a note from them. Secondly, so it’s Minecraft for cottagecore queers.”
Armand’s scowl hardened on his face, but he was quick to regain his haughty composure. “I’m afraid I’ve entertained you both for much too long. I have to attend to my cactus fruit crops in order to woo Sam. He’s a lazy and laidback musician who also cares deeply about his family.”
He turned his focus onto Lestat and locked eyes with him for a pregnant pause. The former lovers couldn’t bring themselves to say much to each other. Any time they were in contact, all of the heat that burned deep within them rushed through every part of their bodies. Whether it was the fire of fury or renewed passion, neither could figure out. All they knew was that they hated the feeling of it. It was why all they could say in that moment was their names.
“Lestat.”
“Armand.”
That was enough. A common courtesy was all they deserved at the end of the day.
Satisfied with his supply, Armand marched back to his bedroom and loudly shut the door behind him.
Daniel shook his head with a sigh, trying to bring himself out of the fog his boyfriend always put him in.
“Where, uh, where were we?” he asked Lestat.
“My Christmas predicament.”
“Right, right. Well, look, if you want me to play Cyrano, I’m not doing it. I can barely encourage the vampire couch potato in there to participate in Hanukkah with me, so my chances at emulating someone who enjoys Christmas are slim to none.”
“No, no. No, I wouldn’t ask that of you, Daniel, but thank you.” Lestat waved his hands in front of him. “I simply want to know...how to begin. How would someone...get in touch with a religion they take no part in?”
Daniel took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, blowing out his lips in surprise. The snarky old man was gone. This was a reporter who took his work seriously.
“Look...they always say write what you know, right? That’s the first thing they feed you in the trade. And in a way, they’re right. That’s the best way you’re going to create something meaningful. But in the case of schmucks like us, that’s a little harder.
“So what you have to do is immerse yourself in the culture. You know, really study up on everything you can find about the topic to get the full story. Walk among the people, watch how they engage with the world, find out why these followers get out of bed each day. That’s how you get your winning story.”
Daniel threw up his arms to shrug. “You can’t write what you know until you know it for yourself.”
Lestat nodded along to each word he said, soaking them in until they burrowed into his own brain. The better he understood, the more a smile stretched across his face.
Maybe the interviewer was onto something. Immersing himself in the culture of Christmas just might be the key to his success. And he knew exactly where to start.
~
After a full day of entertaining screaming toddlers and entitled wealthy children, the mall Santa could finally go home.
He stepped out of the back door and sighed as he reentered the dark city. The dim glow of the lamp hanging over the door was almost comforting to him. No longer was he sucked into a realm of blinding shades of red and white and the overstimulation of loud kids and generic holiday music. Out here, he could remember that there was a real world outside of it all. Things made sense in the cool night air. And for the next twelve hours, he was more than happy to be a part of it.
Santa had barely taken three steps away from the mall before a deep, sultry voice whispered to him from the shadows.
“So this is what Santa does during the rest of the year.”
He jolted and whipped around to squint into the dark, seeing the faint outline of a figure hiding within it. The longer he stared, the better he was able to make out Lestat stepping out to greet him.
He pressed his hand against his chest to catch his breath, trying to calm himself from the shock of being scared rather than from being in the presence of a celebrity. “Oh, it’s you. You’re that, um...vampire singer, right?”
Lestat hummed as he stood before Santa, pressing his hand against the rocky concrete wall beside them. “So you have heard of me. Tell me, Santa. Am I on the Naughty List this year?”
Santa made a dry laugh and tried to wave him off. “Cute. But it’s just a day job, you know? I’m off-duty.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Mrs. Claus if you won’t tell my boyfriend.” Lestat leaned in closer to Santa and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “I know I haven’t been very nice this year, but perhaps we can...make a deal.”
Santa couldn’t explain it, but he felt himself almost leave his body. Every inch of him lost its feeling, instead making him feel numb and suspended in this man’s presence. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his neck twitching as he was consumed by the vampire’s spell.
“Uh huh,” was all he could say in his daze.
Lestat continued, “What if you could grant my Christmas wish, hm? And then, I’ll grant yours. Will that get me on the Nice List?”
“A...Anything you want.”
Lestat stood up straighter and bounced his shoulders like a bird ruffling its feathers. “Music to my ears.”
Santa broke himself out of his fog for a moment, allowing him to return to his senses. He noticed too late that the so-called vampire’s fangs were out in the open, and his hungry eyes were aimed directly at him.
“Tell me all of your secrets.”
Lestat didn’t give him a moment to respond. All Santa could do was scream once the vampire lunged at him and plunged his teeth into his neck.
Lestat burrowed his face into the puncture wounds, keeping his body perched on top of his victim while he sucked the life out of him. He let the taste of his blood linger on his tongue, savoring everything the juicy flesh would deliver to him. But it gave him nothing.
He couldn’t taste any of the Christmas flavors people always raved about. He didn’t get a glimpse of any Christmas memories he could cultivate as his own. Even the memories of this man’s time playing Santa didn’t inspire him. All he tasted was a hack with a useless theatre degree who never got his big break. It was kind of pathetic.
When the last of his blood was drained, Lestat sat up on his knees and spit on the ground beside the lifeless body. He wiped away the leftover blood and cursed his victim out in French, hoping to never taste a piece of him again. That’s when he heard the camera flash.
Lestat jolted in place and froze in his spot, waiting for the onlooking paparazzi to yell his name. It wouldn’t be the first time TMZ caught him with a victim. Luckily, he’d always been able to play it off as part of his gimmick-that-wasn’t-really-a-gimmick. This time felt different, though. He felt vulnerable and almost naked with this victim. It was exactly how the hawks wanted him to be.
Sighing to himself, Lestat slowly turned around to face the music, but he relaxed once he saw who stood before him. Or rather, who didn’t see him.
The camera flash belonged to Louis, the vampire stumbling into the scene on his own Christmas quest. He didn’t even notice Lestat while he snapped some pictures of the city, as his back was completely turned from the bloodbath. He pulled his camera back down to his chest after capturing a wreath hanging over a storefront. He seemed to be satisfied with his work, as he smiled to himself while gazing down at the image on the tiny screen.
Lestat snapped out of his daze once he saw Louis turn back down the street and continue his project. The longer he watched him, the more he realized that he didn’t usually see Louis at work. Most of the time, Louis didn’t let him accompany him. He claimed his photography was something he needed to do alone so he could be closer to his art. However, Lestat knew deep down that he only said that so he could have some space.
He didn’t mind it. He’d always find time for Louis. He saw him work during his own photo shoots, insisting that no one else in the business could man them except for his beloved. But Louis’s freelance work was usually his and his alone. That ended tonight.
If he didn’t know Lestat was there, he couldn’t tell him to go away. Tonight, Lestat was going to watch the master at work. After all, he wasn’t faring much better in his own craft. He might as well watch someone else be more successful than him.
After cleaning himself up, Lestat made his way through the crowded streets of San Francisco. It was difficult to keep himself in the dark thanks to the excessive holiday lights on display throughout the city, but he managed to make do. He allowed himself to stay close to the walls or the shadows, staying hidden from the general public and fans alike. Throughout his entire journey, he never took his eyes off Louis.
His beloved truly seemed to be in his element with his camera in hand, as he constantly stopped on street corners and turned his body just so in order to capture his angles. His focus always seemed to be on the decor lit up around them. He aimed his lens at the lights, the wreaths, the window displays, and anything that screamed Christmas to him. Lestat didn’t get it. He knew he never would. But beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and the beholder was Louis that night.
It wasn’t long before a young couple stopped Louis and asked him to take their picture. He was more than happy to oblige, and he snapped several shots of them cuddling up to each other in front of a store window. The two groups profusely thanked each other once they were satisfied, and Louis made sure to give them his business card so he could send them the final shots.
After they departed, he made his way onto a nearby bench and pressed his back into the headrest. He didn’t take any more pictures that night. Instead, he pushed himself forward and turned his eyes onto the stars. The smile stretching across his face the longer he stared wasn’t lost on Lestat. He didn’t see much of this side of Louis anymore. He wasn’t allowed to. But he knew exactly what it was.
Louis was...happy. He was truly happy. This was what he liked doing. He liked being out in the world and enjoying the holiday splendor. He liked interacting with the humans like he was still one of them. He liked seeing this life through a camera lens because it was one of the ways he still could see it all. It was when he was truly allowed to be himself. It both broke Lestat’s heart and made him fall in love with Louis all over again.
And as if the Archangel Gabriel himself was showing the way, Lestat’s muse returned to him. His body twitched with new life and energy, and his bright blue eyes sparkled underneath the lights. His fingers were practically scratching at his thighs, itching to put the new notes and lyrics running through his brain down on paper. The Vampire Lestat was back in business, and he was finally ready to strike a chord.
~
Lestat finished the song in three days. And like all of his songs, his first audience for it was Louis.
The night of its completion, Louis was woken up by a text notification buzzing on his phone. He picked himself up in bed and looked beside him, finding the space where Lestat would lay empty. That wasn’t unusual. If anything, it was an indicator that he was the one texting him.
Sure enough, Louis dangled his legs over the side and picked up the phone, seeing Lestat’s name flash back at him. Groaning in a sleepy haze, he unlocked it to open up the conversation between them.
He raised a brow once he found that Lestat had sent him an audio file with the message “I finished it ❤️ ” attached. Now he was awake.
Louis reached over and popped his AirPods into his ears, securing them as he opened the file. He was immediately greeted to the steady strumming of Lestat’s guitar, and he laid back down as the opening notes played on. It was much quieter than most of his work, almost sounding like the songs he wrote back in New Orleans. It was also much more somber. Then again, most of his work was. He was just more vocal about it in the louder songs.
But Louis found himself laughing as the familiar jingling bells heard in every Christmas song began to play underneath the guitar growing louder. The lyrics started out in the same mournful way that most of his songs did, always hidden under a catchy beat. Louis could tell that he’d incorporated some of his own feelings into it, as they spoke of confusion and apathy around the season. It wasn’t the typical story told in a Christmas song, but Lestat always defied convention.
But then, Louis heard the key detail in the song. He heard his boyfriend start singing about a lover on a moonlit night, sparkling underneath the lights. And the song’s tone changed in an instant. And when it reached the chorus, Louis knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I want to see Christmas through your eyes.
I want to stand under starry skies
And give you the gift of my love
That should come as no surprise.
I want to hang stockings by the fire.
I want to tell Nick what I desire
So when he comes to me
And my heart so true,
He’ll know the only thing
I want this Christmas is you.”
Louis was numb as the song continued on, but it wasn’t a painful lack of feeling. He was more in shock at what Lestat had done. It was a good numb. It took his breath away. He was almost so lost to it that he missed when the song ended. But he knew what he had to do once it ended.
Louis threw his AirPods out and charged out of the room, barely putting himself together as he marched through the halls. He appeared in the main foyer to find Lestat waiting for him in his armchair. His beloved was curled up in the seat, his arm balanced across his knee while he looked over at him with a smirk.
“Hello, Louis.”
Louis’s mouth opened to say something, anything to convey his gratitude for the song. However, he couldn’t get it out, forcing his mouth to stay open like a fish.
Lestat chuckled at the sight, adding, “I see you listened to the song.”
That sobered Louis up. He closed his mouth and shook his head, saying, “Yeah. Y-Yeah, I did.”
He walked over and sat on the chair’s arm, still shaking his head in disbelief.
Scoffing, he asked, “Why?”
Lestat softened his gaze on him and slightly cocked his head. “Because I meant every word.”
He pushed himself up so he could gently stroke Louis’s cheek with his fingertips. “Louis...I stand by what I said before. Music is meant for love. It always has, and it always will. And our friend Daniel told me to write what I know. And that’s when I realized...that what I know is you. What I know...is my love for you. You are my muse, Louis. You always have been.
“And something else I know is how much you love Christmas. And though I may not understand it, you show me the good parts of it. So that is how I want to celebrate it. I want to celebrate it the way you do. I want to see the world the way you do. Because I love you, my Louis. And I want you with me for eternity.”
Louis had to close his eyes for a moment, but that didn’t stop them from misting over anyway. He pulled back his lips to catch his breath, nodding through his bloody tears.
“That’s what I want too.”
“So why don’t we begin celebrating early?”
Louis allowed himself to smile and leaned into his touch. “I’d like that.”
Lestat cupped his cheek in his hand and leaned in, quietly saying, “Merry Christmas, Louis.”
“Merry Christmas, Lestat.”
Unable to help themselves any longer, the two leaned in and kissed until theirs was the only air they could breathe. Their lips shaped around each other’s to become a perfect fit, and they pulled in tight to push against one another to keep their passion going. They lost themselves so easily in their love, but it was truly all they could ever want for the holiday. And now that they knew they loved each other so deeply, Christmas could finally begin for one and all.
~
I’m sure it comes as a surprise to no one that the song was a hit. Anything The Vampire Lestat puts out is automatically #1. And before anyone asks, yes, I’ve listened to it too. I think it’s fine. It’s no George Michael, but as far as not-so-jolly Christmas songs go, it’s one of the better ones.
But the point of this story isn’t the song itself. It’s the heart that went into it. It’s a lesson for even the grouchiest Scrooge that you can find something to appreciate in the holidays. You may not believe in Christ’s birth (Hey, I do, but not in the same way you do), but you can still take part in the love that’s strongest around this time of year. You just have to find your own way of doing it. So if a bisexual vampire rockstar can do it, you don’t have an excuse.
I thought about ending this with the iconic last words of “The Night Before Christmas,” but you know that’s been done a hundred times already. I stopped adhering to schmaltzy cliches a long time ago, and I’m not restarting my career by going back to them. Besides, you won’t see me writing another puff piece any time soon. So I’ll end it by saying this: When life is bringing you down a little more than usual, remember who you’re doing it all for.
And stream “Christmas Through Your Eyes” by The Vampire Lestat. He didn’t ask me to include that, but I know he’d make me put it in if I didn’t.
Happy holidays, everyone.