Johnny Jackson isn't a who. He's a what. He's the guy just off-stage at the concert, who will know the best restaurant for ribs in the next small town they're playing in. He's the guy down the street, who's tinkering in his garage, fixing whatever vintage motorbike happened to roll into his life. Johnny's the guy who picked up extra work as a stunt-man. As a lumberjack. As a short order cook. And loved every day on those jobs because he told stories and learned things and picked up an appreciation for how the world works. He's not about being famous. Or rich. But he loves a great time and being comfortable, without a lot of fuss.
If he happened to inherit a tavern, it would look a lot like this. Bit of this. Bit of that. Some food at the back of the house. The menu names things he loves – movies, places, people – moments. Characters. If you get it, fine. If you don't, no worries. Pull up a stool, turn off your phone - grab a drink and let him tell you a story.