“It all started to go wrong in Berlin. I was supposed to be shooting in the KitKatClub, and the agency had booked three local models who were going to be meeting me there. So I arrive at Tegel and there is a guy there with a board, you know it has ‘Freeland’ written on it with a Sharpie or somesuch, and so I lug my gear over to him and stick out my hand. He just smiles and beckons, doesn’t take my bags, heads off at speed towards the exit. I follow and find him standing by the open boot of a large silver Merc. I think “that’s more like it” and start to lift my camera bag into the boot.
I don’t even remember getting koshed one, but I must’ve been, ‘cos I woke up here, camera gear gone, clothes gone, but I’ve still got my wallet and my cell, even my passport. You’d think if it was a serious theft they would have taken the stuff that is easy to flog, right? I mean there’s not a lot of places you could get half the value of the gear that was in that case.”
“Stop talking Mr. Freeland. Your lies do not impress us.”