(EVERYWHERE, USA) — “Bill Cosby. Harvey Weinstein. Jeremy Piven. Kevin Spacey… the list goes on,” states Marcus Finberger, who sits on a bean-bag chair within his parents’ basement. “Sure, I am a creep. But those guys screwed up when they decided to become famous. I always stayed under the radar.” Finberger pours himself a Coke Zero, “See, I’m not famous. They can sue me, but they won’t get much.”
Finberger gets up from his bean-bag chair to peer through his tiny basement windows for a glimpse of the outside world. “When you become famous, everyone knows who you are. You are under the microscope of the public eye.” Finberger’s mother yells down the stairs to ask if he ever looked at the joblink she sent to his email. “God… Yes, Mom!” yells Finberger.
“Sorry about that. Can I get you something to drink? Coke Zero?” offers Finberger. I tell him that I am just fine and strictly here to report. “Oh, I get it – you think I am going to put something in your drink? Jesus, that boils my blood!” Finberger walks across the room and changes his tone.
“Lets get one thing straight – those guys are rapists – I don’t do that!” explains Finberger as he feeds his goldfish. “I’m just a creep. I might stare at you or try to smell your hair. That’s the worst-case scenario. I may be a creep, but I have boundaries and I do not cross them.”
I then hear a muffled scream from his closet at which Finberger assures me that I heard nothing.
