Harley nearly choked on the sip of tea she had just taken. After coughing and spluttering for a moment, she looked at the man across from her incredulously. "You want to interview me? Why? I'm no one special. I'm not even a real artist, just a photo journalist for a newspaper." she stated flatly. He had to be joking. There were hundreds of real artists all over the city. Why would anyone care about the thoughts of a measly little photographer like her? It didn't make any sense at all.