At the Tokyo office of Bad Music Co., Ltd. the walls are covered in skulls and crossbones of various designs and a man in black is sitting at a table smoking strong cigarettes.
He looks really cool in his sleek black gear and silver accessories, and sitting down next to him in my sweat-stained red T-shirt I feel like a bashed-up Datsun pulling into a parking lot next to a swanky Cadillac.
I click my 100 yen plastic lighter, but it's out of gas, and he reaches across, his fur-clad Zippo blazing like the Olympic torch.