I unpack my briefcase. I place a Dictaphone on the small, knee height table in front of me. I retrieve my pad and pen, and arrange them neatly next to the bottled water I had already set down.
There is an empty bowl across from me. I grab a packet of seeds from my bag, and fill the bowl with red seeds only. Red seeds only. That was one of the more difficult criteria on the rider. His agent, a portly, balding gentleman named Andre had insisted upon the seeds.
I was somewhat taken about by the directness of the request. I mean, the rumours that he had been doing seeds had been bandied about for months now, but for his agent to be so direct about it? It came as something of a surprise.