The local record store had an opening for a cashier.

Rockin' Records. Another friend of mine worked here, but had to move back to her hometown due to a family emergency. I was lucky enough to have everything fall into place for me to be able to attempt to pick up her position.

It's kind of a mom-and-pop shop. The manager is the owner, Raphael. Him and his wife live just upstairs of the store.

It barely felt like an interview at all. It was way too conversational to be one. With all the good word my friend put in for me, it was if Raphael was just trying to make sure I fit the description. I felt like I had gotten all dressed up for nothing, but at the very least it drew out some fashion praise from him.

We talked for what felt like hours. We must've gone over every bit of music that interested us, what it's like in the city, prior jobs. By complete chance, I would offhandedly mention my interest in the AISR music culture.

Of course I would, honestly.

"We've got one who works here." he said. He explained how it got here; a junkyard frequent-customer, accruing rust, CDs and records. Didn't seem to speak a lick of any language, but was conversational through non-verbal interaction. Always picked the niche stuff out of the bins, always took anything on sale. Eventually, Raphael would set up a bed for it upstairs in the house.

And, eventually, the AISR would just come down to help when it could.

I got hired on the spot, even though I didn't feel like I deserved it at all.