I had turned the corner onto 13^th street at 5^th avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and came across five people milling about outside Lucky 13 Saloon, smoking cigarettes.

At least, I assume they’re cigarettes. The people who smoke the other stuff usually walk up a few feet into the darkness.

Not much, Tim, I said, meeting someone here tonight for business.

Tim let the cigarette hang from his lips as he stepped toward me and gave me a hug. He DJ’s here on Thursday nights, mainly because he lives three blocks away and it’s an easy night for him.

“You and your business,” said Tim, “Just flippin’ relax tonight, dude.”

He didn’t say ‘flippin’ either, but by now I’m sure you’ve figured out that I’m applying a filter to my night.

Tim was a mainstay of the underground Metal community in New York City, and Brooklyn in particular. He knew everyone, from Juliya to the boys in Killcode, to Otep, to Marilyn Manson, to Jimmy Duff, to the girls in Kittie, to Sum 41 of all bands, and the list could probably continue indefinitely. But he was happy – I hesitate to say content – doing his local DJ gigs every night of the week.

Thursdays was Lucky 13’s, like I said.

Who’s here, I said, even though I could just as easily go inside and see.

“It’s dead,” said Tim, “Joey James is supposed to be on his way, and I talked to Willow before, she said she was coming out which means Michele probably will, too.”

Willow and Michele were both locals, good kids and talented photographers. Joey James, on the other hand, was an amazingly talented artist who has done work for Otep, Type O Negative, Duff’s Brooklyn, and a bunch of people I’ve forgotten. Not to mention his Los Angeles billboard.

Cool, I said, will see you inside, sir.

I pulled the door open and was greeted with the sounds of ‘The American Dream’ by Walls of Jericho. Good song, but incredibly heavy. I met Chris and Candace when they last swept through New York, and they were cool folks, but she was far too angry on record.

She makes Miss Ivy look like a hippie, if you get my drift.

Hey Jen, I said, as I stepped toward the bar. I kneeled on one of the barstools and leaned over the divider so I could give the girl a hug.

“What’s going on, Knox?” asked Jen, “How’s your better half been?”

Working, I replied, all the time. But she’s off next Thursday and told me she wants to do the Brooklyn tour and see everyone again.

“Cool,” said Jen, getting down to business, “What can I get you?”

Amstel, I replied. That’s my home – away –f rom – home drink, since most bars in NYC don’t carry Dos Equis.

Jen fished the bottle out of the cooler, and in one smooth motion, popped the lid, pulled a coaster from the stack on the bar, and placed coaster and beer in front of me. I dropped a ten and waved her off.

Yeah, the beer was five bucks and I left five for Jen. Tip your bartenders, people.

“So how’ve you been?” asked Jen, “I heard you got hurt.”

Hesitation.

As if talking about it could make it happen.

Yeah, I hurt my back before wrestling at Coop’s, of all places, I said, but I’m fine now. I’m actually meeting up with someone in the biz tonight.

“Cool,” replied Jen, “So we’ll see you on TV again soon?”

I don’t think these guys are on TV, I said, but yeah, I’ll be getting back to work soon which means pain in strange places and more classified crap.

Her eyes went wide.

Joke – things, I said, Pain happens, but it’s just post – match stiffness. Long as I don’t push it, I should be fine.

Tim reentered the bar and made a beeline for his DJ equipment. The song was coming to an end and he quickly changed tracks.

Otep. Crooked Spoons. Of course it is.

So I’m waiting for this guy to come in, I said, he’s this old school journalist that’s gonna be involved with the new group I’m starting with. Has anyone been in here looking for me tonight?

“No, not that I know of,” replied Jen.

I nodded and leaned back to see what was on television. Looks like The Thirst, a truly horrible vampire movie. Lucky’s was always good for a few things: good music and bad movies. But it’s a law of nature, the only thing better than a good horror movie is a bad one.

“Impulse?”

I didn’t recognize the voice, but I knew who it was. Randall Knox, I said, as I turned around, you must be Russel David?

The man in front of me nodded and extended his hand, which I shook.

“Jamison, neat,” said Russ to Jen, which made me chuckle. The bar was fully stocked, but I was always amused whenever someone ordered something other than a beer or a shot.

Let’s move to a table, I said, gesturing to the sea of them in the middle of the floor, and you can tell me what this is all about.

“Basically,” said Russ, “myself and a few partners and investors are bringing Legion back to life. You know the history of the organization?”

Dude, I said, You called me because you apparently knew about me, so you should know the answer to that.

The answer to that, by the by, is that I know the history of any organization that shows the slightest interest in me, and the history of any organization that I’ve got the slightest interest in working for.

Who else is on the roster, I asked.

“Well, we just released some information on Mike Randa—“

I’m in, I interrupted.

“—lls. Wait, what?”

I’m in, I repeated. I want to be a part of Legion.

“Well, alright then,” said Russ, as he raised his glass and clacked it against my bottle, “I don’t have the paperwork with me but I’ll give you a call in a few days.”

Maybe it was strange that all it took for me to want to be part of Legion were the words ‘Mike’ and ‘Randalls’ but it had been two years since I’ve seen him, and had some things to talk to him about.

Nobody knows about this, but before NFW Wrestlestock 2, I couldn’t sleep, so I went wandering though the desert and came across a bonfire, and a man and a woman sitting around it.

Angel, lead singer of Valerian’s Garden, the de – facto headliner of record for the musical portion of Wrestlestock, and Mike Randalls himself. As far as I can tell, nobody knew he was there except for the three of us.

And he might not even have been there; I don’t remember going back to the tent with Rosie, and I couldn’t find the site the next day, so it might’ve just been a dream.

But I don’t know.

They both gave me some advice that night; good advice that’s served me well. I’d like to have the chance to say thank you.

Even if it was all in my head.