Oh please. In a long day of indignities, allow me the privilege of footing the bill. One for the road, if you will. [Richie flashes him a grin. An honest one this time.] If the universe was right and well you'd be the one pestering me for liquor.

[Jokes. It doesn't take more than a half-second glance to know this kid would be investing in pocket protectors over a PBR six pack. Richie claps his shoulder amicably.]

You got it, short stuff. Suivez-moi.

[He turns and sets a sprightly pace. The cityscape would be gorgeous if it could be dealt with sans caste system. It's nearly nostalgic. Not at all like LA, but the crowds and specialty shops give him fierce yearnings.

Richie huffs and pulls a carton from his pocket, popping a cig between his lips and clicking his lighter to life. His hands huddle over the flame as it tickles the tobacco, a half-assed cocoon from the winter winds.]

You got a name, Mr. Moneybags?