The 27 Club

2: Nice to Meet You

(Pictured Above: Robert Johnson. (5/8/1911-8/16/1938) Strychnine poisoning.)

I pushed through the doors of the bar. The place was rather empty, with the exception of a few people. It was well lit, and music was being played from a record player across the room. The doors slam behind me as I try to quietly walk in. Heads turn and I look at the ground, trying not to bring attention to myself. With my head still down, I quickly walked to a table and sat down.

I rest my head on the table and began to think. What the hell is going on? The 27 Club? Isn't that some bullshit conspiracy theory? Besides, wouldn't you have to be super famous to get in. I'd figured you'd have to be one hell of a group to have your own community after death.

I felt someone sit down with me, but I didn't bother to look up. I don't know anyone here, so I might as well. I don't want to get my ass kicked. "Hello." "Hey." I quietly mumble back. "New here I'm assuming?" I nod. I paid attention to his voice. He had a small lisp which added to his otherwise normal English accent. It was oddly soothing. "I know how you feel. When I arrived here, It was just Robert and I. Nothing wrong with him, he's a good guy and I love his music, but it was so weird. I never knew the man, yet it was the two of us stuck in here for what felt like an eternity. Then a few more came along and they felt like you. It'll be okay, but you won't make it out alive." We both chuckled. "Could I get you a drink?""Sure." I said, feeling a little better about the whole situation. I felt him get up and I waited for him to come back.

A few minutes later, I felt him sit back down and set a glass by me. I smiled slightly. "I don't know what you like, so I got you the same as me.""Thank you." I finally felt comfortable and lifted my head up to be met by a rather good looking guy with a distinctive bell of golden hair. He was smiling. "Nice to meet you." I said as I stuck out my hand to shake his. "Daniel Hopper, but you can call me Danny or Dan or whatever the hell you want."" Brian Jones. Welcome to the club." Wait, Brian? I swear I've heard about him before.

"What's your year?""What?" I thought his question is strange. He mumbled some words I couldn't understand then replied. "Well, I got 1969. Kurt over there is 1994. Jimi and Janis were, uhm, both 1970, and Amy says she's 2011 but I doubt it. So, what is you year?" "2017." He looked shocked when I said it. "It was the last day of February, but we were partying like it was summertime. It never gets cold at the beach." I chuckled. "February 28th? That's my birthday!""Holy shit nice! How old would you have been?" "Let's see.... 2017, right?""Yep."" Uhm.." He thought for a second. "75." I was kind of surprised, I clearly do not have a 75 year old man sitting across from me. "Fuck, you're old.""Oh hush, back in my days boys like you looked up to me." He said very defensively.

"What did you used to do?" "Well, I had created a band. It was a little blues band I had gotten together, and ran, and devoted a hell of a lot of time to. We were called the Rolling Stones." He motioned his hands like the words appeared above him. The Rolling Stones. A few boys from Britain that have a lot of albums. Who hasn't heard of them? Brian started to tense up and became angrier with every word. "And we were becoming big. Everyone loved us, with the exception of the press and most parents. Then, Mick and Keith started calling all the shots. It pissed me off. Keith was a dick. Eventually, they kicked me out of my own band! It was awful. That's the only significant thing I did."

He sighed. "Shit dude, I'm sorry. They don't mention you at all anymore. You've basically disappeared." He slammed his fist on the table, shaking it. I tried to comfort him. "But hey, they're one of the most famous bands in the world. You made that happen. You did it. They would be nowhere without you." He smiled, but still looked upset. By now we both had finished our drinks and I wanted to leave. "Is there anywhere to sleep around here?" "Not really, I mean, you can sleep, but it's not like we can die again from sleep deprivation. I've found that the booths over there are big enough to rest on." I adjusted myself in my seat. "Thank you." "No problem." His mood very suddenly brightened up." I'll tell the others about you. They'll definitely want to know about the future. Was there super fancy robots or anything like that?" I chuckled. "I'll tell you later.""It was nice meeting you." he said quickly. "It was nice meeting you too." I said with a smile and walked to the booths on a different side of the bar.

I lie down and think. This is a lot to take in. Let's recap. I'm dead, there is an afterlife, and there happens to be a certain part of this afterlife dedicated to drugged up musicians like me. Strange. Well, I'm here and there's nothing I can really do about it. At least I've made a friend, a kind of weird one I might add. He was very nice, but changed from happy to big mood and back in a matter of seconds. At least he's interesting.

My eyes grow tired and I sigh. After a few minutes, I am at rest in this booth in a bar in the motherfucking 27 club. This is going to be a very freaky eternity here.

(Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter that took for-fucking-ever to get out. I didn't really know what to do to make whole bar scene so I figured small talk with Brian Jones was a pretty good idea. I'm still in the process of moving across the United States, but my schedule should free up by July 2nd or so. A free schedule means more time for writing, so be looking forward to more content on my profile. Thanks for reading!)