Finding Sofia

Sofia?

Sofia.

Are you... Are you friends with Sofia?

Sofia... no, no.

No... no English.

I don't... I don't understand.

Uh, okay. All right.

Where are we going?

Mabel. La Tía Mabel.

What? La Tía Mabel.

Your bell?

I don't... Uh, um...

No habla español.

It's hard to focus. I'm so scared right now.

Is this your buddy? Is this your friend?

Guess what. You're not special.

In the U.S. alone,

there are 4.2 million recreational artists,

800,000 art students, and 3 million professionals.

That's 8 million people infected with the disease

that some optimistically call "the creative type."

They wake up every morning, and when they look in the mirror,

they feel special.

They think they have a story worth telling.

Most of them go on and write, paint, play, sing the story,

and then they publish it on endless blogs.

The world tells them, "Trust yourself,"

and "You are different."

But only 15% of them will get a job

that they feel worthy of their talent.

A mere 2% will achieve any sort of visibility.

And less than .2% will get famous,

only to be forgotten in an average time of three years.

Before traveling to Argentina that winter,

I was among these 8 million people.

I met Sofia for the first time

when she left a comment on my most famous viral video...

"Dancing Tomatoes."

She wrote, "Your work is so shallow,

it's the perfect metaphor for a decadent world."

I was instantly attracted to her.

If he buys this, we're finally set, Alex.

No more of this struggling artist bullshit.

We need this, man.

Alex, I need you to focus, okay?

It's definitely a big opportunity,

but just pitch the show with a lot of confidence

and you'll be fine. Say yes.

Yes. Yes. That's it.

Come on.

You just really need to focus, that's all.

Look, I brought the tomatoes in case you want to use them.

Here.

You know, he might want to see them or something.

All right, man. Let's go. Let's do this. Come on.

Why are we doing this? That's the main question, right?

I want to respect the artistic process.

I want to do more than, like, a funny video or, like,

a dancing thing, you know?

I know what I don't want to do.

I have a long list of things that I hate.

It doesn't have to be overly negative, of course.

How many viewers does your tomatoes video have up to now?

Uh, it's like 2 million.

But it's been online for three years.

And how much money have you made?

It's online. Nada?

Zip? Zero?

In the old days, fame came with fortune.

Internet fame costs you money.

You're paying for other people to enjoy.

I'm glad you brought it up,

'cause he and I talk about this all the time.

Do you know about what our brand is?

Energy Yogurt... I assume it's yogurt.

Yeah.

We're gonna sign a contract, you and me.

I can get it ready for you in a couple of weeks.

The point is, is that you're gonna have

complete artistic freedom, okay?

The only thing we're gonna do is we're gonna change out

the tomatoes for strawberries, bananas, and kiwis

just to get a range.

I Fe...

I feel like we're talking about two different things here.

Uh, well, let's be honest here, Patrick.

Alex. Yeah, whatever.

You can milk the tomatoes now and get the money

or you can watch how people forget about it

and go on to the next stupid thing.

Now, do you want to put it to work for you

or do you want to let it go to waste?

Yo! Just a minute.

Come on. There's a fucking line.

Hey! Tomato guy, whoo!

This is an automated security alert from East Borough Bank.

A purchase superior to $1,000

has been charged to your credit card...

Oh, no.

An American Airlines ticket to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

If you did not make this transaction,

please contact us immediately.

Have a great day.

Hey. What's up? You won't believe what happened.

I've been invited to talk about my work

in Buenos Aires... tomorrow.

I'd love to see you.

Let me know if you want to grab a coffee or something.

Where... Where are the sandwiches?

Do you have sandwiches? Sí.

Yeah, okay. Where are they?

Okay. Just in the back?

Your bag. My bag?

Yes.

For a sandwich, really?

Hi, Sofia.

I'm writing this e-mail from the phone of a guy

who offered his help.

I just got all my stuff stolen when I was looking for a hotel.

I'll be sitting on the corner of Humboldt and Paraguay.

I have no money and no way to get back to you.

I know this is the last message

you were expecting to get from me.

I promise it will be the last one

if you don't show up.

I'll be waiting.

Yours, Alex.

Fundamental dynamics of our eye contact.

The dynamics of our eye contact

started 8,000 years ago in the interior of the sun.

Millions of photons were trapped in its core for centuries,

and, much later, we were born and everything else happened.

Then in a solar storm eight minutes

before I saw her for the first time

that summer night, some of those photons

traveled 91.4 million miles through space

and bounced into the moon,

reaching my pupils 1.3 seconds later.

Only then, a portion of those particles

reflected back to Sofia.

And so, we could look each other

in the eyes for the first time.

But the fact of the matter is that I looked away.

Hi.

Hi.

Are you okay?

I'm okay.

Eh, why would you call me in a situation like this?

What about the people you came to see?

I-I-I lost all my stuff.

And I-I didn't have anyone else's e-mail,

so I'm sorry. I'm not...

Did he mention Mabel? Mabel? What, uh...

Did Victor ask you something about my aunt Mabel?

Yeah, Victor... That's that guy?

That's that... that... Who is that guy?

It's my boyfriend, okay?

Listen... Your boyfriend?

Okay, what did you say?

Well, I didn't... I didn't know what to say.

I thought he was talking about a fucking bell.

That... he... you... You have a boyfriend?

I can't believe that you didn't tell me...

Okay, lower your voice. That you have a boyfriend.

Shh. Lower your voice.

Listen carefully. I don't know you and you don't know me, okay?

Clearly.

Tomorrow, you will make some phone calls

and sleep somewhere else.

What's that?

It's my little bag of shit

that they let me keep for emotional value.

I-I don't... I-I-I can't believe

that you lied to me... I didn't.

About having a boyfriend. You didn't?

I didn't lie.

What are you talking about? I didn't lie.

This is my real life.

It's not the Internet. What?

The Internet is real life. We've been chatting for months.

I sent you a picture of my dick 24 hours ago.

What do you expect out of that picture?

What did I expect?

Five-star hotel and a loving girlfriend?

I was in a club in a bathroom in a stall.

And there was a dude pounding on the door.

Okay, listen. Okay, yeah, I'm sorry.

Listen. You are my cousin that I've never seen before.

Aunt Mabel's nephew. Okay?

You can spend the night here

as long as you play along with this.

Okay? Okay.

Okay, I have no, uh... I have no other options, so...

It will be fine.

Hey. Alex?

I'm Flor. Nice to meet you.

Sofia told me about your loss.

I'm so sorry.

She told me that you live in New York.

I have never been there, but it must be awesome.