"Psychic real estate is so now," he said, his face so close to mine I could smell the chicken parmesan and cigarettes on his breath.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. Real-world real estate is plummeting. Advertising has maxed out their potential in TV, movie product placement and search engine ads. Everyone's scouring the world for the next big money-maker and I'm telling you, right here and now, that the next boom is gonna be in dreams."

His eyes were bulging, a vein as thick as my pinky finger was throbbing near his temple. Small sweat balls were emerging from his enlarged pores. A string of spittle was oozing down from his wide, grinning, veneer-enhanced smile, dangling its way toward his white dress shirt.

"You'd think a smart young man such as yourself might wanna be in on the biggest thing since the fucking wheel. Until they start figuring out a way to charge people to breath the goddamned air this is it. IT!"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, making an attempt at showing some kind of composure by folding my arms across my chest. "I think I need to hear a little more about how exactly you see me fitting into the picture before I commit."

His Chestshire cat grin only widens at this. He lets out a long slow hiss as he backs away from me, circles his desk and seats himself in his high-backed ergonomic chair with a little whimper of delight.

"Very wise of you, young grasshopper, very wise."