My life is pretty routine and dull, interrupted by moments of excitement. Thursday, Friday and Saturday are my busiest nights. It could be a cabaret in town, a private party, a corporate event. I also have my own solo show that I’ll perform from time to time. I’m a parlor magician, so I like an audience.

My audience is a really good cross-section of New York. There are three types of audience members. The first type really appreciates magic. They understand that it’s an art form, and they like watching someone who’s really skilled do something amazing. I love those people.

Then you have two types of people who make up a minority, but they’re the loudest.

You have the True Believers, who believe that magic is real, and nothing you can say will change their mind. So if I do a mentalism trick, there’s going to be a person or two who will think that I have psychic powers. I could tell them up and down: “No, no, it’s fake, I’m a magician, it’s a trick, I could show you the book.” They would flat out not believe me because they think I’m protecting my industry secrets.

Once, after a seemingly impossible mentalism routine, this woman got so freaked out that she wanted to know if I could contact her dead relative. I said, “No, I can’t. No one can.” She refused to believe me. She was all like: “No, no, you have the gift, and left, kind of upset with me.”

Then you’ll get the opposite: these curmudgeons who just refuse to be entertained by any kind of deception. They’re usually the violent hecklers: they’ll yell out, “I know how you did that! It’s up your sleeve!” I don’t get it. Like, why are you even here?