Let me tell you three things that the number 27 signifies here: certain stars, the ones that burn with a flame too fervid, expire in 27 years; I originally wrote this novel at age 27; and it took 27 days of headachy effort to translate it into the English version that I'm giving away here.
That was the best year of my godforsaken life. Looking back, it all feels like one long stretch of a runner's high, or a beer buzz, or the guitar solo of "Champagne Supernova" blasting for 12 months. Pure, life-affirming euphoria. Words can't describe it, but I tried anyway. It's all there, tucked away in random paragraphs of this piece.
I suspect I'll never have experiences like those again :( But having this nice little rock'n'roll novel to share, it somewhat eases the pain of having lost my youth (all the exercise and partying took a toll on my heart, literally). If there's only one moral to my personal story, it's the same as the main character's lesson: choose love while it isn't too late; most other potent pleasures can kill you (including cardio, if overdone), and they're all substitutes for love anyway.
https://www.wattpad.com/story/361299429-revolt-of-the-rockstar-clones