Hmm. He’s right. I drop my gaze to the ledge and exhale a long breath, a smile growing across my face as I let my brain sink into performance mode.

Well, here goes everything. I meet Zarar’s excited eyes.

“Hey hey hey, I’m Jamie. Your friendly neighborhood Hollywood kid trying to lead a normal life.” I pause. “And by normal, I of course mean—making it big, this is Hollywood.”

His lip goes up on one end. I glance around as if I’m talking to a larger audience.

“As a kid growing up in Hollywood, I haven’t really experienced much normal.” I glance down at my booted feet. “What is a normal life really? Is it living within walking distance of a SoulCycle? Is it Botox? There’s a place called MyBotox less than a mile from my house. I walk past it on my way to the local coffee shop.

“It’s great branding, MyBotox. Casual. Like I already own it. Like we’re friends. MyBotox. Kind of like iPhone, every actor’s favorite pronoun next to the thing they want—a phone. But applied to Botox.

“I can’t help but think to myself when I pass it, like, is that really what Botox users are looking for? A friendly open relationship?” I pause, perusing this concept. “Cuz that’s not the impression I’ve gotten. You hear these celebrities in interviews: my dog, my kids, my fancy accent couch—I don’t think I’ve ever heard them mention Botox.

“Botox is like the uncomfortably crude uncle you hide in the closet at important gatherings. No one introduces you to their Botox. It’s their deep dark secret friend they pretend they don’t know at parties. No one is coming up to you like ‘Oh my god, do you love my face, meet my Botox. She’s really great, right next to the coffee shop, we hang out all the time.’

“They should maybe rebrand with something like ‘Not Botox.’ Get your Botox now and get out. Don’t worry, you were never here.

“Do you know who gets Botox regularly?” I pause. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s my big shot Hollywood producer dad.

“My dad, he’s only forty-three, but like, it’s totally normal because we live in Hollywood. My grams gets Botox. My dead ancestors get Botox. My friend’s mom. My dog.

“Kidding, I don’t have a dog. But you know what I’m saying. It’s part of our culture in La La Land. In New Jersey, you know it’s Gym-Tan-Laundry—GTL. In LA it’s PTSB. Personal Trainer-Starbucks-Botox. It’s normal, it’s how we do.

“Ah, normalcy.” I smile fondly.

I rock on into my social media bit. And I keep going.