Slash

I’ve played for hell-raising crowds and hollowed-out clubs, where the whiskey stains the floorboards and the music cuts deeper than any knife. My fingers carved ‘Appetite for Destruction’ into the skulls of rock’s doubters, and when the band imploded, I kept the flames alive with Snakepit, Michael, and Miles. You don’t retire from this—I bleed strings until the amps cough back.