I love elevator conversations

There's a very nice woman in my apartment building who looks very exotic, has an accent to match, works a Kim Kardashian body, and usually wears very fancy, sexy, expensive-looking clothes.  I don't know her name, but I call her Italy, and she's fabulous.  My jobs mean that on many occasions I am either leaving the building at 5am or coming home at midnight or later.  There obviously aren't a lot of people from the building that I usually encounter at these times, but Italy is one of them.  When I leave early in the morning, I sometimes pass her as she's coming home, all dressed up, and when I come home late at night, she's sometimes just on her way out.  I don't know what she does for a living, and I'm certainly not judging, but, well... I've wondered.  The other day, Italy and I both arrived home at the same time.  The lobby was inundated with the fumes of someone's way-too-strong perfume that they had clearly bathed in, and as soon as Italy and I were safely on the elevator away from the toxic fumes and the offending wearer, the following (one-sided) exchange occurred:

Italy: Woo! It smells like a whorehouse in there!

Me: [silently smiling back and nodding]

Italy: I mean not that I know what a whorehouse smells like.......

        (3rd floor)  ....I'm not saying this from first-hand experience or anything....
 

        (4th floor) .... It's not like I've ever been in a whorehouse....
 

        (5th floor)  ....I'm just saying it's what I imagine a whorehouse would smell like.
 

        (6th floor)  ..... If I'd been in one.
 

        (7th floor) ..... Which I haven't.  Been --  in a whorehouse.

                         ..... Okay, have a nice day.  Bye.