The year was 1975.

While spending countless weeks touring the western side of the US, Queen then settled into the lively eastern side — Columbus, Ohio for another round of successful tour nights. After the band had finished their concert at the Agora Ballroom, they all decided to celebrate at the bar not far from the venue. It was late into the night, but the bar welcomed their guests with open doors, music blaring-a-plenty.

The guys all dispersed once a few drinks hit their systems. Freddie and John fancied the karaoke machine that had recently been installed — despite John claiming he wasn’t much of a singer (always a liar, that one was.) Brian found himself wandering around the bar’s vast collection of music memorabilia, specifically the guitar décor. And then there was Roger, who sat by his lonesome self at the bar, a cigarette tucked between his primary fingers and a pint of lager being hugged by the remaining digits.

Despite women’s many attempts of having a ‘go’ at flirting with the long, blonde drummer - none prevailed. While Roger wasn’t exactly the type to deny attention, as it gave him something to do, he was often misunderstood by the image he’s raked himself into. Yes, he flirted with a handful of women, and did things he wasn’t particularly proud or fond of; more or less, he was a quiet and soft soul. As he entered his later 20s, he wanted less to do with groupies and more of the romance he’d always miss out on. Someone to put life into perspective for him, to recharge his battery when he can’t push himself anymore, or even be the food for his lonesome soul.

But that seemed like a dream rather than a reality. All these women wanted him for his fame, wealth, or body. None could afford to sacrifice the time to explore what his soul craved. Often times he felt like maybe that was his reality. A drummer of a band that was too wild to be seen with a forever love. So as he swigged the lager and chased it with a puff of cigarette smoke, he continued to sit by his lonesome self at the bar.