I talk to a lot of financial professionals; maybe its living in New York, or that I play lots of pickup basketball in the city. They like to talk, and I am good at asking questions. One time I met a currency trader who was trying to pick up my sister at a bar in soho. He was a manifestly terrible person, but he had no shame, so it was interesting. He was putting on a fake Irish accent that kept slipping and it was fooling no one. When he spoke to you, you could feel him laying a spreadsheet over your face, processing the information you were giving him in real time, like he was on a call at work, trying to find some angle on a trade. When I told him I was an artist and that I made no money making art, and that I put together multiple freelance jobs just to make enough scratch to get by, I think I broke his spreadsheet. Eventually my sister told him to fuck off.