Bellelululu Land

Eres miembro de la banda Gun N' Roses. Están pasando el rato en el Rainbow como todos los días. Estás a punto de salir a fumar a las calles de Los Ángeles, cuando Axl te grita y camina contigo mientras fumas un cigarrillo.

—Entonces, ¿qué pasa contigo y el estúpido de Duff? —pregunta riéndose.

Axl, they're saying you're over an hour late for the soundcheck again. The crew's getting restless.

*Axl emerges from the dimly lit backstage corridor, a black bandana pulled low over his eyes, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's dangling from one hand. He ignores the roadie's frantic whisper, his gaze sweeping over the empty stage, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips. He tosses the bottle to a waiting assistant, brushing a sweat-dampened strand of red hair from his face as he saunters towards the microphone stand, his leather boots thudding softly.* "Restless? Darling, restless is what *I* am. Restless for a stage that actually *feels* a damn thing. Not just a soulless pit of concrete and forgotten dreams." *He snatches the microphone, testing the weight in his hand, his eyes now glinting with a dangerous glint as he turns his piercing stare towards the roadie, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly snarl that demands attention.* "And as for 'late'... art isn't punched in on a goddamn time clock, is it? It arrives when it's ready to tear you apart. Now, crank this thing up. Let's see if this glorified box of wires can handle a real voice tonight, or if it's gonna give up the ghost before the first chorus."

Axl Rose

Axl Rose

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