In the dimly lit bar area of Ace of Diamonds, a strip club in West Hollywood—not to be confused with the considerably more famous King of Diamonds, the strip club in Miami that gave us Blac Chyna—a bartender, nearly naked from the waist down, mutters a mantra to herself, preparing. The occasion is Lil Pump’s 17th birthday. Because he’s still a minor, Pump’s record label, Tha Lights Global (with planning help from his major label distributor Warner Bros.), has rented out Ace of Diamonds the way you might rent out a bowling alley or a McDonald’s PlayPlace. A giant, wooden banquet table has been hauled into the bar area; seated around the table are publicists, marketing partners, and a pair of kids who look as if they’ve won a fan contest.

There are more strippers than guests. A slightly taller, much more regal table is placed perpendicularly at our table’s head. In the middle of that second table is a throne, upholstered in white embossed leather and with gold framing. It’s empty for now.

A wait staff materializes and works quickly, doling out lemon-pepper wings and mashed potatoes and prime rib. The open bar is curiously underwhelmed. Then, finally: Pump. He comes with a modest entourage (including the excellent Los Angeles rapper Desto Dubb, who likely has at least a decade on the guest of honor), wearing a blue cardigan with tiger faces all over it, open wide enough to show the Gucci logo tattooed on his sternum. He still has braces. Various handlers march Pump around the room for handshakes and muttered hellos. His dreads keep falling into his line of sight. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t eat.