“You got talent, man.” Kurt said. “So promise me, don’t every get as bad as I did.”

I nodded.

“Good.” He said. “You every played “In Bloom” by my band?”

“It’s my favorite song.” I said.

A black Fender Stratocaster materialized in his lap.

“Nice.” I said.

Mr. Cobain started off, singing in his rough voice while I played along. After we finished, he sighed and lit a small paper blunt.

“Dude! Put that out! My folks can’t be smellin’ weed in here!” I said frantically. “Wait, if your dead, how can you be smoking weed?”

“It’s okay, your parents won’t be able to smell it.” He said, answering my first question. “You keep your addictions after you die. I have to go soon, anyway.”

“Wait” I said. “Before you go, what is Nirvana?”

“Nirvana is a state of mind where there is no anger or craving.” He said.

“Thats pretty ironic compared to how things are now.” I said.

“Exactly.” He said and faded away, leaving an autographed Stratocaster behind.

To my biggest fan, even after death. Peace, Kurt Cobain It said.