Jack sat in his apartment, phone on his lap, ready to call Mon. He’d stared at that key long enough. Long enough to be sure the emblem etched into it was indeed the Satan’s Suspenders logo. He’d gone out and found a record store, where the hippie behind the counter had explained the ins and out of glam rock to him. He could just as well have gone over to Fats Foley’s. Odds were Fats had copies of all his albums around there somewhere. But it didn’t feel right going into Fats’ without Mon. It would be like cheating on her. The record store had the albums, and the hippie played Jack some of the songs. He barely got the headphones on when this screechy voice started screaming in his ears, almost ripped off the top of his skull.
“Groovy, huh?” the hippie smiled.
Jack, checking out the album
