Morbid thoughts on becoming (Forever) 27
If I were a rock star, and not just any rock star but a superstitious rock star, I would be a shivering, nervous piece of wreck by now. My thoughts would be plagued by the inevitable tragedy (becoming part of the special group called Forever 27 Club) that's going to befall me any day from two days to 365 days from now --my 27th year in this world, an age when most rock stars who are true to their music choose to die, with tragic as their preferred approach to dying.
