The Man Who Sold the World
I figure at this point I must be dreaming because I wouldn't find myself in such a strange room sitting across from stranger people. The room is small. As is the table I'm sitting. The space feels like an interrogation room in a lousy cop show. There's too much light for what the soft humming fluorescent bulbs should be putting out. Maybe they're not fluorescent. Probably some energy saving hippie bullshit. The first fruit sitting across from me starts talking. "We'll give you a minute to adjust" he says. "At your leisure when you are ready." he smiles. His accent sounds regal. Bordering on British. They do look a bit pale. He's got the posture of a soldier, but it's like he's dressed as some loser from a war reenactment. Shoes with buckles. High starched collar jacket so sharp you could slice a bagel with it. Shirt more blouse than actual shirt. This guy is definitely fruity. That said he co...