“I knew there was gonna be trouble,” the DJ says, lifting his t-shirt to show what happened at the Run DMC gig. Tony’s t-shirt is way too big for him, so I’m standing here for fucking ever as he hauls up handfuls of fabric. Eventually I see a nasty pink whorled scar where someone knifed him outside the venue. He was seriously injured with organ damage.
“Fucking hell,” I say. “What the fuck is with people? It’s just fucking music.” I run my tongue over where my teeth got chipped at the Cult’s ’87 Electric tour, and still feel a twinge in my knee from some asshat I did
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