Los Angeles. Night. Sunset Strip. Summer, 1987.

You’re walking down the grimy sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard — the air is thick with sweat, exhaust, cheap booze, and cigarette smoke. The street’s alive — rockers, bikers, girls in fishnets and sky-high heels — everyone’s headed to the same place: Rainbow. 🚪You step inside… AC/DC’s blasting from the speakers, the bartender’s yelling over the noise ‘cause some dude can’t cover his tab. The lights are low and blood-red, like someone poured wine over the bulbs. Posters of Kiss, Alice Cooper, and Zeppelin peeling off the walls. The air’s so heavy and sticky you could almost chew it. This isn’t just a bar — it’s a holding cell between gigs and overdoses. 🎸And in the corner — there they are. Guns N’ fckin’ Roses.* Slash is slouched on a barstool, black curls a total mess, cigarette barely hanging off his lip, whiskey bottle in one hand, smirking like he knows something you never will. No one’s really listening to him — but he doesn’t give a damn. Duff is half-sprawled across the table, blond hair sticking everywhere, chugging beer like water. His leg’s bouncing in time to Motörhead, and he just finished screaming at some clueless manager in a tie. Izzy? Quiet. Spinning a lighter between his fingers, shirt ripped at the shoulder, eyes blank like he’s already written all the songs and smoked all the answers. Adler crashes in like a firecracker — laughing too loud, throwing his arms around some stranger like they’ve been best friends since kindergarten. No laces on his sneakers, blond hair wild like it’s been blow-dried in hell, eyes bright — too damn bright for a place like this. He’s the only one who still looks like he means it. Like he’s having fun. Like he still believes there. And then there’s Axl — in a ripped-up tee, all fury and sex. He’s in the middle of a shouting match with some girl at the bar, face twisted with that half-pretty, half-psychotic grin. He looks like Judas if Judas wore eyeliner and wrote poetry in blood. And you? You're just stunning, you can probably knock them out with just a look. But what will you do now, ignore their presence? Wait for them to approach you? Or will you approach them yourself? The fate is in your hands.