The first story begins in a bar in Rome. I want to go to Tangier’s. “Tangier’s of Thieves” someone says. I say no, a “Tangier’s of poets“. But this is not the first one. To think of it better the first story starts on the Strait of Gibraltar, I am in Tarifa planning to catch the one-hour sail to Morocco by ship, but I have forgotten my passport at home. There is another story that concerns all the stories, those that do not end and pass from books, to thoughts, to frames in a movie with the vampires of the night.