I'm a relatively easy-going guy. But if there's anything that'd set me off, it is to be accused of something that I did not do.

Watching him press his huge body against the counter, and hearing him set off on his tirade in his old-school tough guy demeanor, I am suddenly reminded of Kingpin from the Spider-man and Daredevil comics. Adding insult to injury, he mentioned Chloe - he had to think twice, was it Chloe? Yes, Chloe. Which, according to ancient history, had long since ran off with another guy.

A guy who came with her to do couple shoots, with her parents in tow. Apparently his gossip hounds did not - or chose not to - feed him with this particular morsel of information.

My first reaction was rebuttal. "It's just a fucking rumour," I explained, exasperated. But his demeanor suggested that he's not going to take no bullshit, nor a legit explanation. All he wanted was to present a stern warning as a deterrent. Thus the tough guy demeanor.

Fuck it, I thought, and started nodding along. I can't remember a word of what he said next. My mind had gone to thinking about the distance I should run today, to whether it's time to go buy my fish soup.

Nevertheless, a fuming tightness remained in my chest. My body felt all pumped up with adrenaline from the anger, all set to fight. The funny thing is people don't seem to take me seriously when I get pissed off. Then came Z's client, really good material but who can't stay still or understand a shred of instruction.

So there I am, trying really hard to get some good shots. And Mr. E decides to butt in.

Jesus Christ.

I must have stood there for a full minute with the strobe clutched in my hand. I tightened the knobs. I felt my veins throbbing. My knuckles turning white. I sucked in a deep breath.

Then I snapped out of it. I put my mask back on.

Smile, would you? Smile for the camera. Please.