I had recently sworn off doing any more interviews for SLUG or anyone else for that matter. Not that I really write for anyone else, but if GQ had somehow resurrected my favorite author William S. Burroughs and was going to pay me in high-priced hookers to ask him a bunch of fucked-up questions and finally find out if he really killed his wife so he could become a homosexual junkie and such, I’d probably still say no.