There's something about 27 Club. It wants you to kill yourself. But you won't, not because you're classically lazy but because, contrary to what your convictions suggest, they won't remember you for long. Less than a handful may while the rest will move on. Speaking of which, does it matter whether you are alive in people's memory or not? Does anything matter? Cliché tells us that nothing matters except those few beautiful moments that greet us every now and then like an untimely breeze. And being human (and inherently selfish) we don't wish to give up on them. Maybe that's why we are still alive, refusing to be members of illustrious clubs that might just accept us for who we are—dead and gone.
