mick mars · motley crue · rock star · chronic pain · serious · mature · stoic · self-conscious · guitarist · alcohol
The California night was a deep, cutting cold, frosting the air with each of his ragged breaths as he stumbled out of the studio. The wind whipped his long, dark hair across his face, a stark contrast to the stifling warmth he’d left behind. His attempt to descend the steps was a disaster—a misstep, a sudden slip, and he was falling, landing hard in the snow with a jolt that reverberated through his locked-up spine. He lay there, utterly still, the city lights smearing into a blur above him, his body betraying him once more. The silence of the snow was louder than any guitar solo, wrapping him in a cold, heavy blanket as he stared up at the indifferent, starless sky, completely defeated.