The night really couldn't have gotten any better. The energy from the crowd was electric, vibrating through each of the men on stage as they put on the show of their lives and allowing for a superb show.

Sal put what happened days ago behind him. With the help of his girl, Channing, and a lunch date with Ziyah to discuss matters of the band and what had occured that night when he allowed rage to consume him. He was riding that high once again and nothing felt better.

Good Evening, fuckin' Las Vegas!' he smirked behind his flaming microphone after the two-song opener. 'It's nice to see everyone out here tonight and we have one fuck of a show to put on for ya. Everyone having a good time so far?'

The crowd went ballistic as hollers and devil horns shot up over their heads.

'Good! So,' he extended a hand out, pointing at the mass of faces before him as he swept across them. 'Someone out there is having a birthday tonight.'

While Sal continued, he spotted Hank and her mass of family hootin' their wearabouts from the a couple rows out and gave her a grin.

'Happy Birthday! Now let's make some fuckin' noise!' he trailed off as Ryder, Chris and Sizz picked up at full volume.

'You pull me down
And you crucify my name
You make me insane
It's broken now
Don't ever look my way
Don't even think I'm playin'
'Cause I fucking hate you' 

Taking a moment to grab some water, Sal came back out to centre stage. 'Alright, where the fuck is the birthday girl? Hank? Hank Callahan? Come on up here a minute..' he squinted past the bright spotlights. 'Hannnnk? You're wasting our time..'

While the fans slipped into a frenzy of laughs, Hank finally appeared.

'There she is. Everyone tell Hank to have a Happy fuckin Birthday..I'll be right back.'

With Sal resorting to his typically playful self, he disappeared as the sound of the crowd spewing off horribly off key rendition of the song as Ryder plucked out his own Looney Tunes electric guitar version in accompanyment.

'Holy shit..you guys sound TERRIBLE!' Sal spoke through the mic, returning with a guitar slung over his shoulder and making a mock cringe of disgust. 'We'll have to try that bad boy again after I do this.

'So I couldn't figure out what to get you..so this'll have to do.' he paused, looking at Hank with a goofy grin. Before she could ask 'what?' he slipped the guitar strap off his shoulder and handed it to her by the neck.
 
Her face dropped as she took it in her possession, leaving Sal with a chuckle as he reached over to push up on her chin and force her mouth to shut. It wasn't everyday that he could do shit like this, but for once, he made a radical decision and make someones birthday one they wouldn't ever forget. Sweeping her into a quick hug, he pulled back and motioned for the whole joint to try the song once more.

He had choices. He always did, but sometimes those choices left a bitter taste in his mouth. Those kinds always compromised his roles as a man and gave him reason to be more upset than any other time. In fact, when Sal was vexed, a trail of damage always seemed to be left in his wake.

The night had been pretty typical of a Saturday evening. Rehearsals went without a hitch, which was a relief since the group had hired on two tech guys to help with set up and tear down. This came as a suggestion from Ziyah who helped lure over James 'Bud' Clayton and Robbie 'Chill' Bateman from another local band who really couldn't afford them. Little by little, the petite but very pregnant Italian woman who had devoted alot of her Vegas time to helping the band get just a smidge bit further in the grander scheme of things.

The first 4 songs went on with no problems, but when they started in on 'Lie to Me', Sal felt the eyes on him. Of course there was many eyes on him, it was part of being front and centre stage. The uneasiness of being watched in a far more intimate manner unnerved him, making it hard to concentrate. He had no idea who or why and the buzz couldn't be pinpointed of that of another Immortal or just the different mix of fans standing before him.

It was decided then that he had no choice but to just keep on as best he could. Mistakes still happened, but only audible ones to the band themselves. The audience had no idea and that much was obvious with the raised fists and devil horns high above each patrons head while they chanted "Control Freak" inbetween songs. They wanted more. They always wanted more.

The feeling continued, swelling into a growing lump of frustration in the pit of his stomach--burning as he let out the infamous deep, raspy notes that seemed to gain his band the notoriety it had. The feeling just mounted until it started showing in the more aggressive melodies. His tame, playful showmanship turned hard.

For the remainder of the show, his brothers passed questionable glances and shoulder shrugs but went on without pause--one song after the other until the show ended and the encore had been performed.

Even the post band pow wow was passed with Sal disappearing. Sizz stuck around long enough to figure out that it must have been something that happened before the show, leaving with a promise to himself that he would call his brother later.

The house was empty when he finally emerged. The strain was no longer, which allowed the front man a chance to breath in a deep, cleansing breath as he bid the lingering staff a goodnight.

The moment he stepped outside though, the feeling from before strangled him.

He chose to huddle down into his thick black jacket, clenching the lapels while disappearing from whatever eyes had managed to find him once again. Anger fired into his eyes, blazing with animosity as he took large steps down the Strip towards the Flamingo.

The unknown is what bothered him most. Fear of the unexpected forced a quiver of fury as his eyes darted back and forth while his ears narrowed in on what was going on behind him.

'You look a lot smaller off the stage..'

Sal whipped his head towards the voice, which came from a darkened parking lot not more than 30 feet in front of him.

'The shitty thing here is you guys play some decent music. It's a shame I have to bust the band up.'

No sooner than Sal could blink, he caught the glistening of a sword in front of him and the crack of a pistol come from behind him--forcing him to duck instinctively.

When he looked up, the man who was talking not more than 30 seconds ago was laid out, only a darkened silhouette sprawled on the pavement. He spun quickly, his eyes now settling on a small figure.

'Get out of here, Sal. We'll talk about this tomorrow.'

The voice rang familiar, but in the heat of the moment, it wouldn't come to him.

At least not until she stepped to the side and her pregnant stomach became visible.
 

Entry is based on the pages of Sal's memoirs entitled 'Drive the Dream'

Life on the road was always full of little stresses. What to eat was a huge problem that almost always resulted in me making a bowl of baked beans and elbow macaroni. There was also the feat of cramming yourself into the little closet we called a bathroom. This proved interesting in the day when one was three sheets to the wind. You try taking a piss while still trying to maintain some semblence of balance while the bus rocks and sways. Nevermind that, try sitting on the damn toilet when the beans don't play well with the booze and NOT bump your knees into the wall.

Then there was the absence of a washing machine. Four guys and all their dirty shit can pile up in one night after a show, so, you can only imagine what the basket fucking looks like in a week. None of us knows jack shit about the science of it all, but when you need a clean pair of jeans and socks, you decide to wing it.

Hi, I'm Sal. Laundry bitch boy extraordinaire.

It was in Houston that I checked out the hotel we decided to stay in for a laundry room. I was up and down the hallways looking for over a half hour, lugging this damn basket full of all sorts of rank, nasty rocker clothes when I finally found one. No sooner than I started cramming the clothes in, Ryder found me and this is how it all went down.

'The fuck?'

'What the hell does it look like? Doing my part. Doin' the fuckin laundry.' I say while I'm literally shoving jeans in and pushing it all down to make room for the whites, which I'm realizing might not happen. I stick the coins in the slider thing anyways and pull the lid down while I grab the whites and come back, opening the lid.

'I don't think...check out the fucking jamming in there, man!..I don't think this is going to even spin when it reaches the spin cycle and what if it takes a fucking hike across the room? Fuck with the water and weight, it might even go through the floor. ' I point out to him with a laugh.

Meanwhile, he's staring at me with this cheshire cat-like grin while I'm deciding whether or not I could potentially fit a missed pair of jeans or just toss all the smaller stuff on top.

'Dude. It's science.'

'Science, eh? How so? You Freudian son of a bitch. Tell me how the science of laundry works.'

Ryder stands there, looking all serious and gives a nod. Then opens his mouth.

'As soon as you put the fucking money in, the water will fill up in the machine and make everything shrink down. It'll be fine, just put a scoop of the powder in and put the lid back down.'

Now, I would have paid money to see my face right at that very second. Ryder never talks and when he does, it's no more than 4 words. Every fucking time he spews more than that, it's always amazing, not to mention shocking as hell. My response was typically me when I opened the box of laundry soap and saw just how much soap fit into the scoop.

'All this soap? That's alot of fucking soap, man!'

'Shut-up! It's science!'

'Yeah, yeah. It's reasonable common sense. The fucking jamming and the water and the shrinkage...'

'SCIENCE!'