They smoked weed and drank Sapporos and went to Plaza las Americas to see the Warhol-Pop Art exhibit. They drank beers at a bar across el Nuyo later that night. El Nuyo was a place Riverbed worked in from the age of seventeen to nineteen. He’d enter around three PM. He’d sweep up the main floor, and the bar, and the kitchen, and the bathroom. He’d then mop it all and prep the bar. His favorite aspect, he’d say, about his job was that it wasn’t till seven that he’d have to start interacting with people and he didn’t have to deal with customers at all. He stayed in the kitchen doing dishes and bringing out ice to the bartenders, Enso y el Viejo. Then, the cooks, La Marmota and others, would send him off to la Perla to cop dime-bags of coke, but he’d use the money to buy his own bags. Riverbed had run into a few recently in his last visits. They were happy he wasn’t strung-out anymore. At the beginning, Riverbed bought bags of weed with the money they’d give him for copping, but eventually, it developed into a manner to score his fix. He felt happy doing these things, cool and shit, older or something.