Living in Morganville, Texas, is all that and a take-out bag of worse. I should know. My name is Shane Collins, and I was born here, left here, came back here—none of which I had much choice about. So, for you fortunate ones who’ve never set foot in this place, here’s the walking tour of Morganville: It’s home to a couple of thousand folks who breathe, and some crazy-ass number of people who don’t. Vampires. Can’t live with ’em, and in Morganville, you definitely can’t live without ’em, because they run the town. Other than that, Morganville’s a normal, dusty collection of buildings—the kind the oil boom of the sixties and seventies rolled by without dropping a dime in the banks. The university in the center of town acts like its own little city, complete with walls and gates. Oh, and there’s a secluded, tightly guarded vampire section of town, too. I’ve been there, in chains. It’s nice, if you’re not looking forward to a horrible public execution.
