"Remember Everything We Talked About..."

That's a tall order, Sir. Seeing as we both love to talk. And think while we're talking. And respond and ask. And appreciate the answers, even while fighting them. Sometimes...

Volley. Parry...

"To execute a parry, fencers strike the opponent's foible, or the area near the tip of the blade, with their forte, or the part of the blade near the handle of the sword. This deflects the opponent's blade away from them, protecting them and placing them in a good position to strike back. Approximations of the precise parries are made often during bouts, but are usually accurate enough to be classed as parries."

All for the better good. A mutual understanding and appreciation. We learn from each other.

A Gentleman's agreement. Civil. Cordial, and ALWAYS dapper.

Desperate questions and answers follow, some literally, some made up. None, not necessarily, related at all to the next:

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Do you think you're over her? Yes.

How long do your shoots generally last? Three hours. I don't see any point in them lasting any longer, unless they should. But that is rare. And relative.

Is she really that crazy? Yes.

Do you think he'll ever be happy? I don't know.

Why do you think she's that sad? She's done everything there is to do and she literally hurts.

Do you see yourself ever getting plastic surgery? No. Unless, perhaps, I am involved in a terribly disfiguring accident, which may happen any day.

What do you think about her? I don't trust her.

You mean with the truth? Yes.

Did you know that Jagger didn't appreciate Iggy? What the fuck? he did "Sister Morphine and Iggy did "Sister Midnight." There's an obvious homage there.

So you are obviously in love with this girl? Yes.

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The Eagle has landed. A long, long way away...

Cover Star: Brooklyn, the day that MJ and FF died.
Headlining Band: Ms. Gainsbourg.