red blood

this evening, as i sat on a wall overlooking Sighisoara (steps away from the house where Vlad Tepes aka Vlad Dracul aka Vlad the Impaler aka Dracula was supposedly born) I was approached by a drunk young man with piercing green and bloodshot red eyes and a plastic jug of white wine. he introduced himself as a poet, bemoaned the fact that I couldn't speak Romanian (apparently if I could understand him he would make me fall in love with him by the power of his words), and told me "you have such white skin....but your blood, it is red in your veins....and your heart", baring his teeth a little at the mention of blood.
shivudder.