>I met David Bowie for breakfast at a discreet restaurant

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>I met David Bowie for breakfast at a discreet restaurant at the foot of the Hollywood Hills. Both standing at the buffet with our empty plates, David hovers over what are horrifically called ‘cold cuts’. I nestle up beside him.
>‘David, you’re not actually going to eat that stuff, are you?’
>Rumbled, he snaps: ‘Oh, you must be HELL to live with.’
>‘Yes, I am,’ I say proudly, as David changes course and sidles off towards the fruit salad, and another soul is saved from the burning fires of self-imposed eternal damnation.

What the fuck is this guy's problem?