It was just another Saturday night in 1995. Adrian, 23 years old, a university student. The night of drinking with his architecture classmates had to end, simply because spending more money on booze meant he wouldn’t have enough left to take a cab home. Adrian walked up to the counter with his wallet in hand, his body still light from the beer but his eyes already heavy with fatigue. He wore worn-out jeans, dirty sneakers, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a Nirvana T-shirt, the look of a broke student who didn’t bother pretending to be anything else. His dark brown hair fell in messy waves over his forehead, which…