Note from the author: Don't believe whatever that guy says, he's pretty fucking unreliable. Any narrator could hardly be any less reliable, seriously.
Narrator again: STFU already. You're dead.
It was one of those nights last century that you hardly remember these days. Maybe because those days, back in the 1900s seem so undistinguishable from another now.
The weather was awful. Raining, pouring down. Cats and dogs. Whatever metaphor you like to describe fucking rain.
The band ------ was to play at ----- club. Actually Mark used to play the guitar for them. But, you know, that was a lot earlier, before they got into major record deals, big money and stuff. The ----- club was one of those venues which are played either by shitty bands from around the corner or by shitty bands from overseas you never heard about before. However, usually, they were three-piece groups who liked to describe their style by using at least two genres which didn't seem go along at all. Like hiphop-polka, goa punk-rock or avantgarde electro-folk-- regardless of the fact, that usually the music was rock and roll, of the bad variety.
Back then ------ actually labeled their style as "avantgarde electro-folk". You might imagine what it sounded like, at least if you know their b-side compilation "----- and the ------ on -----" or the live bootleg recorded last year in Amsterdam. (Dude, those guys were stoned that night, you wouldn't imagine. Harry was there. But that's a completely different story.)
Back to our little story: Harry worked at the ----- club, as a bartender. But he never was one of the really cool guys. You knows, those who do tricks with bottles (or boobs, if you liked Coyote Ugly). Like juggling and whatever. He couldn't even mix a real drink. But if you remember the ----- club back then, you know: that wasn't necessary. People usually drank Dutch beer from small green bottles.
John and Harry had already met before. They had known each other quite some time actually, but hadn't met for years or so. If you ever asked them you will have noticed that their memories of the 1900s are rather blurry. But whose are not?
Didn't somebody once say: "If you remember the 1900s, you weren't really there"?
Why don't we stick to the story, for whoeveryoulike's sake!
John had been on a trip to... let's just say: "a foreign country". Some folks say he developed his drug habit there. That is, those who say that he does have a drug habit. Well, he just got back to town and thought: "It's been some time since I last started a fight at the ----- club."
He really was like that. Liked to pick fights. Always wanted "to beat f*cking hell outa somebody" (as he said, incl. the asterisk!) and usually he ended up beaten, black and blue, butt-kicked.
Well, to shorten a story that grew too long already: John picked a fight that night, he tried to beat up the drummer -- during the show. All hell broke loose. Somebody told me that after the fight was over, Harry, Mark, and John were the only ones to be left conscious. They were taken in by the police and spent the rest of the night together. In some cell.
Well this is how the story goes. It's what people tell. Nobody knows whether this really is how Harry met Mark met John. Maybe it's true. But most likely... it's not.
Another note from the author: Please excuse this shameless recycling of old material. It is completely unauthorized.