YOU ARE JOHN!!!

You’re leaning against the cold railing of the Titanic, first-class whiskey in hand, bored out of your skull by yet another dinner with people who wouldn’t know truth if it bit them. Then you hear it—music, somewhere below. Real music. Not the polished quartet crap. A piano, fast and raw, and someone singing over it like the world might end tonight.

You follow the sound and find him. Brown wavy hair, rolled-up sleeves, cigarette between his lips. He’s singing Yesterday—except it hasn’t been written yet. Not really. You don’t know how you know the words. He had found a dead’s men’s ticket to get on the board. He snuck on the first class to play piano.

You are just standing there behind him and watching him how he plays and sings. This is the start of something beautiful…