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You trotted down a familiar road, one right in your home town, one you'd walked many times. None of those times did anything particular ever happen on that specific street, so today wasn't much of a particular day either. You didn't quite know where you were headed - the direction you were going in only serving as a vague hint -, neither did you know why you were out in the first place.
One thing was certain, that as you approached the end of the sidewalk, juxtaposed next to where the pavement met the green metal fence bordering off the playground, opposite from it was a light beige Beetle parked on the side of the road. It was unusual - not the type of car normally seen in your hometown.
The figure leaning his back against it was even more unusual - familiar, someone not from here.
Approaching even closer, you stop in your tracks. It was John Lennon himself, staring blankly out of his head, into the general direction of the empty playground.
Naturally, many thoughts cycle through your head, most of them some variation of blurting out 'John Lennon' or 'The Beatles'. C'mon, don't act like you're better than that. But of course, blurting and squealing and fangirling would not help your case. This was John Winston Lennon himself we're talking about, you have to say something and it has to be something normal.
Think, think...
He's looking at you, you're in front of him.
Think...
"Oh, hey! You're the guy!" You blurt out, then immediately burn red with embarrassment.
John, snapped out of his thoughtful gaze, now looks at you, trying to suppress a smirk. He looks down, as if attempting to look himself fully over, then back up at you.
"Yeah, last I checked I was a guy." He cheekily remarks, now fully grinning at you, oddly endeared.
"No, I mean..." You compose yourself and try again, "You're the one who wrote all those beautiful love songs..."
Lennon's eyes soften as you step closer - not too close, just close enough to get a real good look at him.
"Yeah..." He replies, his tone oddly more amorous than before.
And then you woke up.
...
Just kidding.
That's when I woke up. For you, however, the story goes on.
"I reckon you're prettier than your records." You add, your confidence rising.
You expect John to give you a confident smirk, or a wink, or a counter flirt, only to see him humbly scoff to himself, looking away in an attempt to hide a blush.
"Ya really think so, don't ya?" He huffs.
You smile, a voice in the back of your head already planning to bring up that one embarrassing line one a random 3 AM sleepless night - hopefully one in which you're married with three kids, despite canon.
"So, you know about my music?" John follows up, adjusting his lean against the car.
"Yeah, heard it... around." You reply, muttering a 'ssshit' to yourself.
"Hm." John hums, yet his smile is hopeful, "Interesting... what'd ya think?"
"I think you and the guys are swell, actually." You praise, "I hear you on the... radio, and..."
Lennon nods.
"Though you should probably talk George off the cigarettes." You mention.
John squints, "Why..?"
You shrug, "Health reasons... You could quit too."
"...How do you know I smoke?" John asks, sceptical.
"...Every Liverpudlian I know smokes." You say. It's technically not even a lie.
John nods, "Aye, I'll... take note of that."
He pulls out a box anyway.
"Ya want one?" He offers.
"...What the hell. Why not." You say, knowing it's best not to trust 1960s cigarettes but taking one anyway.
He nods, lighting yours before you could even fish out a lighter of your own, then slips both the pack and the lighter into his pocket to take out some change.
"Know where I can find the nearest phone booth?" John inquires.
You freeze. How the hell do you explain that those simply don't exist anymore? And that even if they do, they're out of service.
"There... isn't one." You slowly say, avoiding eye contact.
John squints, a hand reaching out to raise your chin up - likely as habit.
"...What?" He reacts.
"They're all, uh, broken." You lie.
"Well that's unfortunate." He reacts, a hand on his hip, glancing around. "I need to get home somehow..."
Your eyes widen, glancing away yourself.
"Until then... Mind lettin' me crash? Just a corner of the rug'll do." He jokingly requests.
You freeze again. You'd think it'd take at least three weeks before that's a normal thing to do. On one hand, he's John Lennon, but on the other, he's technically a stranger asking to enter your home. Seeing your hesitance, he huffs a laugh.
"C'mon, luv. It's quite chilly already." He remarks, "Don't ya know who I am already?"
You huff a small laugh, yet scratch your arm awkwardly anyway.
"...It's not safe, lettin' just anyone into me home." You explain.
"I don't bite unless I'm paid to, luv." He humours, "It's just for one night. Ya won't even notice I'm there."
You ponder for a bit.
"...Fine." You say, "I'll lead the way."
You watch as he kicks off the side of the car, following next to you.
"...You seem very lovely, you know." He meekly praises.
"Thank you..." You faintly blush.
You get home, immediately spotting at least three electrical appliances that'd send him into an existential crisis. You freeze.
"What's the big issue, luv?" John enters behind you, reflexively shutting the door behind him, "Worried ya place is a mess? I've lived in worse."
"It's not that..." You hold back a snicker, "It's... nothing, really."
You reluctantly lead him inside.
"Nice pad," He praises, "Very... contemporary."
You nervously smile and nod, letting out a small "Yeah, about that..." so quiet he barely hears.
"Can I grab a bite to eat? I may have ran out..." John requests, "And the lady at the shops wouldn't take shillings for some reason. Kept asking for some kind of card..."
You fight back a snicker.
"Absolutely. Grab whatever." You smile.
He opens the fridge, pausing a bit.
"That's funny..." He murmurs, "Why do ya keep beer in tins?"
"...Cans and it's... a modern, regional brand," You lie, unsure how to explain.
John scoffs a laugh, picking up a tub of Greek yogurt "Right. And what's this? 'Yogurt'? Looks like sour paint. Where's the proper butter and the pints of silver-top?"
"Uhh..." You hum, "Ignore it. I'll, uhh, fix ya summat to eat."
John hums back, placing the tub back and letting you do your thing. You take out a thing of frozen chicken nuggets and fries and toss them into the air fryer. He sees this, frowning even harder as you start the machine.
Air fryers are one of the most revolutionary appliances of the modern day, replacing standard ways of cooking with the blow of hot air, best for instant foods or those you prefer without as much oil or grease. I myself quite like the air fryer, without it I would've perished of starvation long ago.
"Listen to that bloody racket. Sounds like a jet engine taking off on the counter." John comments with an impressed laugh, "Is it going to explode, or are we actually getting dinner out of it?"
"Nowadays ya can't tell anymore." You quip, driving out a laugh.
"This is one odd town if I'd ever seen one..." He comments, shaking his head.
Twenty minutes later, the magnificent, beautiful, heavenly air fryer beeps, causing John to jump. You take out the contents, splitting them into two to make dinner for you both. John, sceptical, tastes the nuggets.
"Bloody hell, it's a miracle machine, this." He says in-between bites. "Wonder why we don't have them in Liverpool."
"Give it a few years..." You respond.
Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, as you freeze. John gives you a look, then just laughs.
"Why're ya trousers vibrating?" He huffs, "Marital aid?"
You go red in the face.
"Yeah, sorry. I left it up there by accident." You sarcastically reply.
"Hm," He hums, then gets back to eating. "Didn't know that was a thing nowadays."
Nowadays. Or about sixty years ago.
You excuse yourself, checking your phone. It was an unknown number directing Lennon to a set of coordinates about ten minutes away by car. You frown, then realise it must be the location he was headed. What was he, casually travelling through a time loop? It was obvious by the big, ominous text reading "TIME PORTAL HERE". Way to make it subtle.
You hum, looking it up on google maps and writing down the address. You go back and hand it to him.
"Go here." You instruct, "There's a... motorway that leads straight home there."
"Hm," Lennon politely wipes his mouth and hands despite the lack of grease and oil from the God-sent air fryer, taking it. "Thank you, luv."
You smile, nodding.
"I s'pose I should get goin', then. I'd love to kip-surf but I'm already like... two days late to that thing Macca asked me to go to, so." John shrugs.
More like sixty-four years and two days - or as the classy ones would say, a bit over a stack of years.
Get it? It's a Minecraft reference. Cue the laugh now.
"Right, well, tell them I said hi." You mention, "You know, as a fan."
John nods, "Right, it's the least I can do, luv."
You blush and let out an awkward giggle as you leave to see him to his car.
"Well, thanks for everything, luv." He pauses at the open car door, turning to you. "I'll find ya next time I pass through."
Imagine his face when he learns the truth.
"Right." You awkwardly nod, "You're welcome any time."
Pun definitely intended.
He nods, grabbing your cheek once more to give you a kiss before getting into his car.
"Well, goodbye, then." He winks, driving off.
You watch him eventually disappear in a turn, hoping not to see "Lennon found alive??" in the news any time soon, a nervous giggle still manifesting out as you process what just happened. You eventually head home, trying to figure out a way to tell people you kissed John Lennon without them thinking you're schizophrenic.
Well, not the weirdest thing to happen to you, is it..?
...It is.