We didn’t look like we belonged in that club. We belonged in the same club, but that wasn’t it. People were way too groomed and the bathrooms were way too clean. The place was composed of a tiny indoor space where customers crammed up to beg the bartenders to steal their money, and a large outdoor terrace decorated in what occidentals think Asia looks like, where a DJ played that music that DJs play under a huge maneki-neko figure, and people danced languidly as they do when DJs play that music that they play. It was loud and neon red.

​

In those days I was going through a white Oxford shoes, skinny black jeans and a custom tailored Napoleonic style blazer stage (and by no means am I claiming pride in this, I’m simply stating a fact), while he had a more classic hard rock look. His hair was longer and less curly than mine; he had a red bandana wrapped around his head; skinny ripped jeans, ripped jean jacket and black Converse high tops.

 

He, expectably, came towards me, but his question was unexpected:

​

“Are you jewish?” he asked.

​

I laughed. “Why are you asking?”

 

“My band is looking for a manager,” he said.

​

I laughed again. “I’ll be your manager,” I said with a confidence that concealed the fact that, except for summer bartending, this would have been my first official job.

​

We shook hands, sat at the bar, and got ourselves two glasses of the least expensive whiskey to celebrate our new partnership; one based solely on the fact that he looked like a rocker and I looked like a Jew. Prejudice at its best.

 

“Man, I really hate this music,” he said.

 

“Me too,” I responded.

​

“First time here too?” he asked.

​

“I wish I could say that.”

 

The truth was that, despite my looks, I had lived a life that was indistinguishable from your ordinary yuppie, and had always hung out with that sort of crowd, wishing to meet more people who at least knew who Julian Casablancas was, but never doing anything about it.

 

“So, let’s talk business,” I said. “First things first, will I have to wear a gold necklace?”

​

“Well of course,” he said. “And grow more chest hair,” he added.

 

We had just started to discuss what my role would be when his gaze went past me; he stood up and raised his hand.

 

A girl with a hairstyle that can only be described as frondose, wearing high waisted ripped jeans with fishnets underneath, big black boots and a Nirvana tank top came towards us.

 

“Meet Kate, our drummer”

 

“Kate, this is our new manager…” he was going to say my name but realized that he didn’t know it. “Wait, we don’t know each other’s names, do we?” he said.

 

“I see you’ve really thought this through,” said Kate.

 

I extended my hand towards her. “Diego. Your manager, apparently,” I said.

​

“Kate. Your client, apparently,” she said and shook my hand.

 

“Oh, I prefer to think of my bands as family,” I said, imitating an Italian accent.

 

“I’m Bones,” said Bones.

 

We ordered a round of celebratory shots of bourbon.

​

“Yo, Bones, where’s Tommy?” She asked.

​

“I thought he was with you,” he said.

 

They told me that Tommy was the bassist of the band and that he’d most likely be in the restroom area. We went looking for him.

​

As we were nearing the restroom, Bones and Kate stepped up their march, dodging or moving people away with their arms with a noticeable sense of urgency. I walked behind, using the wake created by them so that I didn’t have to push anyone aside. We got as close as we could to the scene where a wardrobe of a man was leading a puffy eyed skinny guy towards the exit. “Tommy,” both shouted. Tommy had the palms of his hands facing upwards as if saying “I’m innocent.” He didn’t seem too agitated until he caught sight of his bandmates, at which point he tried to run towards them. That’s when the security guy hugged his entire body with one arm and kicked him out of the premises without so much as breaking a sweat. We hurried after him and caught him leaning against a short brick wall right next to the exit, lighting a cigarette. When he saw us -them- he chuckled. “I swear I didn’t do anything this time,” he said.

​

“I’m sure you didn’t,” said Kate.

 

“What happened?” asked Bones.

 

“Nothing, I was trying to score y’know… a little picker upper.” He slid his index finger through his nostrils. “Next thing I know this behemoth is kicking me out.”

 

“The nerve,” said Kate.

​

Bones pointed at me with his thumb. “By the way, this is Diego, our new manager.”

​

“Cool,” Tommy said. He offered cigarettes to the rest of us. “I didn’t even want to be here, he did us a favor…Should I go thank him?”

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“Please don’t,” said Kate.

​

“Let’s go home,” Bones said.

 

I texted my friends letting them know I was leaving and we walked to the main street to get a cab.

 

Bones stopped a cab. Tommy opened the back door for us and sat in the front. Bones gave the address and Tommy offered the driver a cigarette which he accepted. Then he turned up the volume of the radio without asking.