Sometimes bits of life strain through to me. No one really lives, the way we’re forced to live—you go to work, you recommend the strength that gets you paid, you get off work, you buy groceries and pay rent. Buying groceries is the fun, bright part. Then you do it all over again.
When you’re a journalist you’re forced to exit the everyday—your job is to raise to the surface what’s been buried under the heavy sludge and dirt of everyday life. The exposé—I think of it like a reverse exhumation, what you unearth is the real stuff of life itself; everything above, none of it is really alive.