We entered the large, cavernous warehouse completely empty except for a small area that was set up to look like a living room in someone’s home. There was a brown leather couch with a side table, a homey standing lamp all arranged on a Persian rug, lit up by spotlights. The rest of the vast space was dark in comparison exception for natural light that streamed in through the windows surrounding the building. In front of the living room set, a plain long table was set up where the decision makers were seated in folding chairs with their notepads and pens in hand. They were dressed like triples, three middle aged men, very different in appearance except for their clothes, all in khaki pants with polo shirts that had the collars sticking up and Gucci loafers without socks. One had a head full of curls, the other had slicked back straight hair and the third was completely bald. A camera man was standing to the side of the stage with his hand-held pointing at me as I walked to the couch with Blondie. Everyone was quiet waiting for us to begin. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Neither did Blondie.