The man sat there. The writer sat across from him. The writer was from a magazine, or a newspaper, or a blog. Who really knew? Not the man.
He sat and fed bonbons to himself and to his dog, who would later be severely sick because the man had no idea that chocolates made dogs sick. He spoke words that people would hold as wisdom and accept as truth. Yet he had made his money playing someone else, playing a lie. Funny, really, when you think about it.
The man looked at the writer erotically. Man or woman, it didn’t really matter, as long as he seduced him or her for the story. Seducing your interviewer is fairly important. Good press is good press no matter who writes it.
The man sat on his bed and thought about the question, or at least he feigned to as the question was truly inane, and scratched his balls through the single lycra leopard print thong he was wearing. Lycra was great but it made just want to scratch his balls constantly. However, not having to wear anything but the thong was freeing. Worth the ball scratching in the man’s opinion.
The man finished his second gin and tonic, funny and tasteless because it was the middle of winter and any person who cared about what society thought about them would drink any thing other than a gin and tonic, before he started to give his highly valued opinion on topic that the interviewer had presented him with. “Style is... sooo subjective.”
The writer knodded and smiled. The entire interview would be published. It was gold. People would be quoting the man for years. Artists truly understand the world for how the world should be, the most practical of world views, and not for how the world was. The world will be happy because people who wear lycra thongs will have visions for the future.