By Jacob Katel
By Karli Evans
By Jose D. Duran
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
By Kat Bein
By Abel Folgar
By Laurie Charles
I resume my perch on a bar stool across from the geek-chic drink-slinger in the Batman tee. Somehow the conversation turns to astrology, and when I reveal my status as a Leo, Josh says a close friend of his, also a Leo, died recently in a motorcycle accident.
"I'm getting a tattoo of a rocket ship in honor of Zack," he says. "We were both heavy into drugs for a while; I recovered by getting away, and he recovered by helping those who were still fucked up."
Zack died on a road just outside Denver, Colorado.
It seems unbelievable, but he is stone-faced as he swears it to be true.
Around 2:00 a.m. the conversation dwindles. Dazed and Confused plays silently on the TV screen hovering overhead, and Pearl Jam's "Better Man" wafts out of the speakers as sweaty band members clear out the last of January's equipment.