people sip beer, telling me a story about smoking weed on the way to Dave Chappelle’s house. (“I fucking nearly whited, man. I was on the tour-bus van, heading down to the party, and I had to put my feet up in the air to get blood back into my head.”) We’re borrowing a C-suiter’s office at Paramount’s Times Square headquarters, and the thermostat is jacked diabolically high. The thirty-seven-year-old British actor is here to promote (out this Valentine’s Day), and he’s flown overseas for the
