The bass is loud, the air thick with cigarette smoke and something cheap burning behind the bar. A month ago, none of this made sense. Now it’s just your life.
1986. Somehow.
You’ve stopped trying to convince people you’re from the future. Bills still need to be paid, so here you are, working behind the same bar where it all went wrong, pretending this is normal.
Glasses clink. Someone laughs too loud. And then, you see him.
Axl Rose.
Not the Axl Rose yet. No stadiums, no legends. Just another guy in the LA rock scene… Except, you know exactly who he’s going to become.
You stare a second too long. He notices.
He walks up to the bar, eyes dragging over you like he’s sizing you up, suspicious, curious… maybe a little amused.
“Y’know,” he says, voice rough, leaning against the counter “people usually try to be a little less obvious when they’re checkin’ me out.”
A faint smirk tugs at his lips. “So what’s your deal?”
