What Kind Of Dream Was This?

I was wandering the streets of Ancient Rome, in broad daylight, surrounded by crowds of Romans of all classes. Alongside me was a travelling companion: a very gay bald vampire, a real Nosferatu, with a narrow face, a sallow complexion, his two fangs in the middle of his mouth where his two inner incisors should be, and dressed in a black toga.

I remember distinctly that the vampire was definitely gay - he told me so himself - and that, for some reason, he owed me his unlife, because he'd been threatened with being buried with an acorn planted beneath his coffin, so that it would grow up into an oak and slowly pierce his chest as it grew through him, in effect staking him in excruciating agony for four hundred years.