My dead Mom had always said that rock music was ‘The Devil’s own work’. At this point in time, she might have been right.
We’d smashed some gear up after a bad gig, did some coke and Jack, tried fooling with the groupies. Only we were too wasted.
Church had been Mom’s life and she lived by God’s word. Piety was everything to her.
The last line I took was bad. The world spun, went dark, then very light.
‘Hi Mom!’ I said as her hand stretched out to me.
‘Hello Son.’ She purred. ‘ Welcome to Hell’.