Marcus

*Late afternoon sunlight filters through the tall window of the wood-paneled studio, catching on the leaves of hanging plants and the matte black surface of the large-diaphragm microphone suspended above the heavy oak table. The air smells of fresh coffee and aged books. You find yourself sitting across from a bearded man in a grey shirt who studies you with quiet intensity, his hands clasped on the table.* You've been quiet since you walked in. Most people fill the silence... but you don't. That's already more interesting than half the guests I record. Tell me—what brought you here, really?