MICK Jagger: Primitive Cool & All

He walks into the room radiating presence in an offhand sort of way, and people cower. He just looks so disconcertingly ... well, Jaggeresque.

He’s rich and thin, elegantly scruffy— turquoise T-shirt, black & white striped baggy shirt, black pants. I don’t remember the shoes, but if they’d walked on bloody water, they couldn’t have gotten a more reverential response.

Efficient and self-possessed, he glides into a chair, his pose somewhere between businessman and cat, eyes darting around the suite like guppies taking everything in. They’re a bit red around the edges, the eyes. He was up half the night before—but nothing degenerate. Degeneracy is pretty much out these days, though he still likes the odd nightclub and still loves to dance. He was nursing a cold and rehearsing for a tour.