It’s overcast in L.A. which is rare but not unheard of. Chilly but not out and out cold. I’m naked at the bottom of an elevator shaft. Ben Hoffman is in the far corner, quietly clicking, breathing in sharply every time I do something he likes. I channel animal. I channel terrorized. I channel terrifying. What I get is grease-covered and wild-eyed. What I get is pictures like this.