Back at the hotel, with the cheers of the crowd long gone and all papers signed and business performed, by 1 a.m. Kraftpark's three members finally felt really ready to relax and party.
Frontman John "Ralf" Smith ruffled in his backpack, smiling youthfully. "Wanna get high, guys?" He was as young as he looked, fresh and optimistic, scruffy but dressed in a suit in reference and reverence to the classic costume of Kraftwerk. He'd dropped the fake German accent - it was tiring and annoying to keep up nonstop.
The other two members, Jack "Florian" Wray and Dave "Klaus" Klaus nodded - Florian more energetically. Klaus was only around 35, but you could see the depression and... lostness on his face. A good reader of faces might see that Florian had been through the same in the past, but he was in a different, better place in life now... he was more silver than gray.
Only when it was too late did Florian remark "Hey, this doesn't look like-"... and then they were all on their way into the clouds for their ten minute micro trip.
"-grass at all," he finished, as Merle Haggard took another sip next to him.
"Aren't you Merle Haggard?!" he asked Merle Haggard.
"Yes. Aren't you still alive?"
"I hope so?"
"Good. Too many suicides today."
"Now you have me worried." He passed the cigarette to Merle, who had a toke. "I don't see why I'd be dead -"
"-Unless it's ego death," Ralf butted in. "This isn't grass at all."
"Ohhhhhhh," exclaimed Florian and Klaus exasperatedly. "You didn't."
"I did."
"What do you think of this crap, Merle?!" he demanded, but Merle was gone.
"Ego life," muttered Klaus. "...What's the point." There was no question mark at the end.
"Ralf," Florian shouted, grabbing Ralf by his tie, "I am so sick of this one-man revolution klanging around in your ananas! I mean you could *tell* us, maybe we'd say yes!"
"Mayyy-be."
Florian sighed, resigned. "How much longer will we be gone?"
"Hardly at all!" Ralf chirped, in his best "I'm helping!" voice. "Five, ten minutes at the most. But..."
"...But?"
"...That's real time. I don't know how long that will mean over here."
Klaus took stock of the situation, like the good little author insert that he was. The three of them were nearly alone. The bartender was nothing but a prop, Merle didn't seem to have any other company at the moment, and the piano player looked like he doubled as a bouncer... poor conversation, probably. Gray.
Klaus's mind was gray, so everything he saw was gray, even when he wasn't sitting in a bar made of a cloud, which he was. Klaus felt colors in only two places: synthesizers and video games. He was an addict and a disaster. Once, he had been like Ralf. One day, he would be like Florian. But he could hardly see backwards, let alone forwards. He was always one failure from being kicked out of the band, but because he loved synthesizers so deeply, he was irreplaceable for the sounds he could squeeze from them, and so he had as many second chances ahead as he had behind, even if he couldn't believe it.
Meanwhile in another time, it was the original year 1997 (not to be confused with the year 1997 after everyone suddenly died and humanity re-evolved), and Merle Haggard had just materialized next to Johnny Cash, who was sitting in his hotel room, pointing a gun to his head. "Hey, this doesn't look like grass!" Merle blurted.
Johnny dropped his gun, which plopped softly and cuddled safely onto the bed. He gawked at Merle, startled.
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