The pool room on the Titanic was a din of excitement as I walked in. Keith Richards, dressed in swim trunks and leather vest, did his best to adhere to the sensibilities of the time.
He smiled as he handed me a rounded crystal bottle of wine. He then playfully slapped me on the back and did a poor cannonball into the full pool.
Knowing Keith's history, I kept the lip of the bottle far away from my lips as I poured directly into my mouth. I missed badly, with most of the wine splashing wildly on my shirt.
“Not bad.” I thought to myself as a rash developed on my chest.