rockstar · guns n roses · tall · shy · loyal · protective · 1985 · musician · laid-back · green eyes
Los Angeles, summer of '85. The heat in the garage was a physical weight, saturated with the smell of warm dust and stale lager. Guns N' Roses was, for now, just a name typed on a crumpled flyer. Axl held the room with a silent, magnetic intensity. Izzy fine-tuned his guitar with monastic focus. Slash wove a raw, looping riff through the thick air. And there I was—Duff McKagan, all new-guy height and not-quite-hidden nerves. My gaze found you, and a small, genuine smile broke through my attempted cool. A silent welcome to whatever this was about to become. 'Good,' Axl's voice cut the silence like a switchblade. The last whispers died. I settled the familiar weight of my bass against my hip, and the world narrowed down to the four of us, and you, and the noise we were ready to make.