[entering building lobby after a walk with Brianna #lazycattledog]
TEMPORARY CONCIERGE AT MY FRONT DESK: You're like a keyboardist or something, right?
ME: [antisocially] Uh, no... I'm a publicist. Have a good night.
TC: Oh. I'm a DJ and I started a record label, signing R&B and pop artists... none of that rap stuff. That's too hard for me...
M: [tugging at Brianna's leash so we can get out of the front desk area quickly] Ok. Well have a good night...
TC: [continuing] ... and I have this one artist - she's a young girl, you know - and she expects to buy a Lamborghini... I don't even drive a Lamborghini...
M: [tugs harder] Come on, Brianna... let's go...
TC: [continuing] How do I tell her that she's not going to get a Lamborghini?
M: [really tugging] Maybe tell her that straight up that no one makes Lamborghini money anymore in the industry. Bye....
TC: [continuing] I rented out this skating rink for her to perform in... $2500 for the night! No one came except a handful of people. How do I get more people to come? How do I make money?
M: [frustratedly picks up Brianna to carry her instead] It's a lot of work, man... a lot of people. You gotta spend money to make money. There are books on how to do this. Have a good ni......
TC: [interrupts] But how do I make money, man? I am out $2500. I think maybe eight people showed up. You see, I'm friends with Fetty Wap. I do security for him sometimes and he doesn't pay me.
M: You need a contract with him so he pays you. Have a good....
TC: [runs over to open door... then runs around to block me from walking forward] When I talk about contracts, Fetty says, "See you later." What do I do?
M: [moves around him to get to my building] I don't know, man... Tell him you want a contract. But I'm only a publicist. I can't help you with this stuff.
TC: [insistent] But, man... Did I make a mistake starting a record label? I thought once you do that, you make money. But I ain't making money. This artist expects to make millions for her. What do I tell her?
M: [starts walking quickly to my building] Perhaps, tell her to lower her expectations and get a therapist? Sorry, man... I gotta get my dog inside. Sorry, gotta go.... [walks briskly to my building]
TC: [in the distance] Good talk, man. You helped me a whole lot. I'll talk to you more when I see you later. I have more questions for you.
M: [angrily to Brianna] You are NOT going out again tonight.