Fresh-faced teenagers worked the crowd handing out small plastic bags of white powder, the speakers blasted out the band’s back numbers.
From the wings the tour director watched as the barbed wire was stretched across the front of the stage (chicken wire, pah!) and the attack dogs and their handlers moved into position.
Hatman Hatman scratched his crotch, sprayed on a generous quantity of body odour, and picked a small bit of last night’s chicken tandoori from his teeth. As lead singer of the world’s heaviest heavy metal band he had a duty to keep standards low.
And he did.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly 100 word challenge found here.
(Heaven is a strong wifi signal and a proper laptop to work on, don’t you know.)